Today has been a truly splendid day.
I am glad about this, because yesterday was rubbish.
Today, however, the world has become a happy place. The sun is shining on my inner landscape, if not on the garden.
This is because we have had a very busy day with lots of exciting achievements.
We have bought our Christmas tree.
We have been trying to do this for ages, but on the two occasions we have already dashed over to splash our cash, he has not been open. He closes at six, and by the time Mark has finished work at night it has just been too late.
We always buy our Christmas tree from the same chap, whom we like very much. He always asks after the children and Mark’s mother, and we always say how lovely it is to see one another, and then that will be that for another year. He is a magistrate as well as a Christmas tree seller, so if we were desperate to see him we could always get arrested.
On the way back we decided that since it was the festive season we would buy the dogs their Christmas present, so we went to Booths, where ethical walnuts in their shells were reduced to two quid.
We have now entered the part of the festive season where it is unwise to be barefoot in the house, because of stray walnut shell splinters. I will not be sorry when they are all gone, and the dogs are reduced to trying to knock chocolate off the Christmas tree when they are hungry.
The dogs love walnuts with a passion I can hardly describe, and the joyous seasonal crunching started within a split second of my putting the bowl on the hearth. Roger Poopy curled up beside it and growled threateningly at his father whenever he tried to help himself to one as well, until I got cross with him and obliged him to Share Nicely.
These people who say that dogs are nicer than humans have very clearly not got one, or at any rate, have not got two. Our two will steal one another’s dinners or cushions or walnuts, with no compassion whatsoever. Roger Poopy’s father takes every opportunity to sexually abuse him, and Roger Poopy is so traumatised that every now and again he consoles himself by sucking his father’s fur, which makes him growl, and abusing other dogs. If they were people they would both be in jail.
Also one of them had an accident on the kitchen floor last week. Give me people any day.
Mark went over to the farm for some more firewood. The yard is full again now, so Let It Snow. We can now manage for ages without having to burn any of the furniture, so I am feeling sanguine about the approaching winter months.
I made mince pies. I faffed about for a bit hanging the washing up, and tidying up, and then I got the big mixing bowl down and the sack of flour out from under my desk, and made a start.
I have been worrying about this for ages, because it is such a massive job, and really needs two of us, because somebody needs to keep washing up the trays.
Mark usually does this. Today he was tiddling about in the yard for so long that I had to wash two of them myself before he turned up. I was very noble about this.
I made the pastry with cinnamon and nutmeg, and mixed it with orange juice instead of water. It is always a small pleasure to dig out the kilner jars of mincemeat, made months ago from last year’s brandy-soaked fruit, and lovingly stored under the dresser for this very moment. So far I have made sixty mince pies, and would have made more, but ran out of afternoon.
Mark made fudge, with oak-smoked salt, in between washing mince pie trays. There is lots of it. It will keep us going all over Christmas and probably make splendid fillings for chocolates as well.
The clearing up took ages, but the fridge is now full of exciting-looking tins, which is always a happy seasonal moment.
It has been a very good day.
