It is finally upon us.
A very merry Christmas to you all.
I am not going to write very much, because it is not Christmas Day at the time of writing, that is to say, it is Christmas Day, it is half past two in the morning, but I would like to go to sleep soon, in order to give Christmas Day my very best shot when it does get here, probably very early in the morning.
Some concentration is going to be required.
We are not, as you know, going to the Indian. Number One Daughter does not like Indian food, and so we are going to cook.
I am not looking forward to this at all. I do not usually cook anything much except things to go in taxi picnics, and I have got an uncomfortable feeling that the sort of co-ordination involved in the accurate timing of cooking half a dozen different vegetables, a massive bird filled with other birds, and then faffing about with gravy and apple sauce and all the other extra details, might well turn out to be beyond my not exactly glowing abilities. I will keep you posted.
If tomorrow night’s entry is called Burned Turkey you will know that I was right.
I have done a very lot of cooking today.
Tonight we had our Christmas Eve gathering. Jack’s Dad is here, and Number One Daughter and her little family are staying in the guest house at the end of the road.
The dogs are here. There are four dogs and two cats. Going out for walks is lovely, they are a pack, charging about and barking and bouncing all over one another, exactly the way dogs should be.
Ritalin Boy is now taller than I am. He is sporting the earliest evidence of what will one day be a beard, but at the moment is merely a feature to provoke ridicule from passing grown-ups, probably he will be traumatised about it by the time it turns into anything worth noticing. He has grown up very nicely, he is entertaining company now that he has grown out of Pokemon.
It is brilliant to see everybody. There is a massive pile of Christmas presents underneath the tree, we look like an advertisement for conspicuous consumption. Mark looked at it and said that actually the tree is under the presents, not the other way round, but this is not surprising. If you have nine people all buying a present for one another, plus presents from all the rest of the family who are also not here, then that is a jolly very lot of presents.
They can’t all be socks. They look very exciting.
I have spent all today getting dinner ready. We have made cocktails and cakes, pies and puddings, and now that I have sat down in my chair to write to you, I have noticed that my feet are aching.
It is no good, I am going to have to tell you the rest tomorrow. I can hardly keep my eyes open.
Have a wonderful Christmas.
By the time I write again, it will be over.
