I am sitting in my taxi drinking spicy chai and eating mince pies.
I can cheerfully say that I do not think there is a better way of earning a living anywhere in the world. Not that I am earning a living at the actual moments of pie-and-chai consumption, but the comment still stands. I can sit here and do nothing without the smallest pang of guilt, and I am doing exactly that.
I have spent the afternoon making mince pies. I am about halfway through the mince and so far I have made eighty mince pies. Mark has eaten five of them already, and he did not come home from work until the absolute end. You will be pleased to hear that so far they have been an absolutely magnificent success. The pastry is fine, the mince is excellent and still alcoholic even after cooking, and so far I have not burned a single one. I am feeling very pleased indeed.
You will also be pleased to hear that Mark likes yesterday’s collapsed sausage rolls anyway. He said they are just fine.
I had a very happy moment today. We have got post once again. I did not go on a long walk this morning, so the postman brought it round to the house, making the dogs bark their heads off until they recognised him.
I had a parcel.
Inside the box was a Waitrose shopping bag.
This was a jolly good thing in itself, I shall take it with me next time I go to Asda so I can look middle class when I am at the checkout, and then unloading in the alley at home. Upmarket luggage always makes a good impression.
Wrapped in the Waitrose bag was the most beautiful Christmas tree decoration.
It was a bauble, and it had been hand-painted by Ritalin Boy.
He had called me a couple of weeks ago with an enquiry about which might be my favourite animal. After some consideration I explained that it was an otter. I like otters. They are quite belligerent for something so small, but are affectionate parents and live together in families. They like to play, and will make water slides and lark about together. All in all, they are my favourites, and the ones by which I used to make an excuse to hang about when I used to take the children to the zoo.
The Christmas decoration had a splendid picture of an otter. It had been thoughtfully designed to reflect my interests, so the otter was drinking a bottle of wine. I was very pleased indeed and shall treasure it for ever. It is even nicer than the Eiffel Tower made out of fishnet tights, or the label, made by my mother when one of the children – I forget which – was learning to read. It says Christmas Tree in big black letters, and I have faithfully hung it up every year to ward off confusion.
I am now excited about getting the Christmas tree next week. We are going to the carol service at Ripon Cathedral on Monday, how quickly that has arrived, and then we will be collecting the Christmas tree some time shortly afterwards, I think. We have been saving two-pound coins for that very purpose. The Christmas tree man, who is lovely, said last year that he is always relieved when we turn up, because he gets very short of change.
It will be here very soon.
How quickly these times come again.
