I am writing the littlest possible entry.
That is not actually true, because there have been one or two regrettable entries where I have been a little intoxicated to write very much at all. They have been a surprise when I have looked at them the next day, like Peter Pan when his shadow escaped and did all sorts of rascally things.
I am not intoxicated tonight.
I have had a glass of ginger wine, but that was ages ago, and I am over it now.
Ginger wine is very nice indeed, it is a sort of spicy sherry. It manages a mildly exciting burning sensation along with a syrupy taste and a bit of a kick to the back of the throat. Do not bother asking for any if you come to visit, though, because I am sorry to confess that we have drunk it all now.
We decided that we would have a quiet day, in order to recover from the adventures of the past week.
We were astonished to wake up at almost ten o’clock this morning and discover that we had slept for nearly ten hours.
The children were still asleep. They didn’t emerge until after one o’clock in the afternoon, and even then Lucy only managed to get as far as her chair, where she cocooned herself in a large blanket and spent the afternoon drawing pictures.
I did not spend the afternoon drawing pictures, although I would have liked to.
We went to Booths and spent our overdraft on ethically sound shopping.
I should not go near Booths when I am poor. We came home with two different sorts of mushrooms, cheese with added chillis, black grapes and a host of other exciting edibles that will make for an interesting diet this Christmas, but which could not have been described as necessary.
I don’t care. Eating is one of my happiest things, and Christmas is a good time to do it.
I shall be interested to sample the mushrooms.
Mark splashed off to the farm in the rain to bring back some firewood and empty the dogs, and I did the ironing. Already the smart clothes worn on our Manchester trip are beginning to filter back through the laundry, and today I had a wash load of shirts to be made flat.
It was dull, even with the radio on. I turned the radio off after a while because I was beginning to become cross and upset. I wish that Parliament would go on holiday and stop talking about Brexit, because I would like a rest from them, and also I wish that somebody would catch the dreadful wicked rotter who has been spoiling everybody’s holidays with drones at Gatwick.
Mark said that installing a set of stocks in the departure lounge would probably sort it out.
When Mark came home we tidied up and decided that we would have an evening at home. Oliver is studying the Tudors at school, and so we unearthed the DVD about Henry VIII so that we could watch it together.
It was not an astounding success. I am not even sure if it helped him have a better idea about the Tudors at all. He said that they seemed to do ridiculous amounts of sex and that it was hardly surprising that everything went wrong because nobody seemed to be thinking about anything else.
We watched the first few episodes, which at least reassured us that violence is not a modern problem. We had to keep stopping to explain to Oliver what was happening. He decided in the end that if he was going to be bored by the Tudors he would rather do it at school, and escaped to his bedroom, so we watched A Game Of Thrones instead.
It has been a brilliantly idle evening.
Back to work tomorrow.
