It is Christmas Day. This is not because I have missed a day, but because I am starting to write this just after midnight. If I get my finger out and get this done at a decent time tomorrow there will be two posts both dated 25th December. I do not write the dates on them. The WordPress thing does that for me.
It will certainly be Christmas by the time you are reading this, so jolly happy Christmas to you.
The thing I would like most for Christmas is a good long sleep, which is the thing I am going to do when I have finished this. We worked very late last night. We collapsed into bed just before six, and then somehow the tiresome new body-clock arrangement interfered, and we were both awake by half past nine.
We had got a lot to do, so we got up.
My friend Elspeth comes to see us with her family on Christmas Eve, and I wanted to have made a pie. I could not quite explain why I felt this to be an important part of the proceedings, except that if you are a virtuous housewife and perfect individual, it is important that other people know about it.
In the end I made several pies, some with apple and pecan nuts and some bottled peaches from our French garden, and one with Cheshire cheese and apple and beetroot. I saw these for sale on the Christmas markets. I did not buy one but resolved to have a go myself. I chucked lots of ginger and garlic and onions in, by way of my own improvement, and also added mustard to the pastry. When we tried it later I thought that it should probably have been baked for a bit longer, but was still pretty good.
This activity occupied me for quite a lot of the day, and I was just scrubbing the last pastry out of the cracks in the work surface and turning my thoughts to the rest of dinner, when Number One Daughter and her family arrived.
Their dog was beatifically, ecstatically pleased to see them.
I was also pleased to see them, although less inclined to lick their noses. I did try this with Ritalin Boy later, when he was being a pest, and he tasted quite startlingly salty, I am glad I am not a dog.
They gave us our Christmas present, a day early because of not seeing us tomorrow and not being able to wrap it up. It is six weeks’ membership at the BeautifulMe Loveliness Health Spa.
This is lovely, because I have missed being able to swim and loll about in the sauna. Number One Daughter pointed out that membership also included the gym. I know that, but in many years of Spa membership I have never actually been inside the gym and do not feel any pressing need to revise that policy. It is cold, and full of sweaty people pounding about on things and scowling. I like the swimming pool much better, especially when the water is warm.
The thing about having Number One Daughter to visit is it is very difficult to tidy up and prepare a civilised dinner when she is about. Ritalin Boy went in my bedroom and hid my jewellery box. Number One Daughter ate nearly all of the olives that I had carefully put in a little dish for dinner, and then she and Number One Son-In-Law plopped the rest into the dishes of chutney and mayonnaise and hummus that I had arranged attractively on the table like a real middle-class person. Then Ritalin Boy got some paper and sticky tape and stuck prices to all of the furniture, in case we might decide to sell any of it.
The dogs charged about excitedly, and somebody got a bit over-excited and did a wee on the carpet. In the end Number One Daughter decided that they had got to go. This turned out to result in a startling tranquillity, because they didn’t just take Ritalin Boy, they took their dog as well, and the house suddenly became a well of deafening quiet.
We ejected Harry as well, thinking that his parents might like to see him at Christmas, and dashed about tidying up and scrubbing at accidents, but we didn’t really need to rush, because Elspeth was also busy and distracted, and didn’t actually arrive until just after nine.
It was lovely to see them. The children all rushed off upstairs to play on the computers, and their dog joined in the general dog charging about, and after a while, when he felt at home, did a wee on the carpet.
Elspeth was horrified, but of course I could hardly feel anything other than mildly resigned, and noted a small hardening of my resolution to throw away and replace the carpet on the day when all of the dogs die. Of course I had a bottle of spray-disinfectant to hand, and all was well.
They have just gone. I am about to stop writing and go and protect the children’s faith in a benevolent universe.
Merry Christmas.
