Another one looms

Just had a quick ferret through the archives to find the blog I wrote before Christmas last year. I wanted to see how far we'd moved forward in 12 months. Can it be that the dishwasher hasn't functioned for over a year now? I really must do something about that. What that might be I have no idea as no-one wants to come and look at it. The sitting-room light is still working...touch wood. The only problem is that it's one of those upside-down flying-saucer types so, unless you've got a good memory (ha,ha), you forget until you switch it on that it also acts as a collector of small flying things. And, by the time you've realised this, it's too hot to take it down. Sadly, I've never heard again from Caroline since she was chief witness at the first of last year's rows. Fair weather and all that stuff.

The man-child is still ensconced in the land of the sheep and daughter number two has yet to arrive via the Christmas markets of Copenhagen. Aged parents have also been to little wooden festive huts, theirs in Milton Keynes. Say no more. MK is all very well but I doubt they had a similar range of pastries and bacon. When I was last in West Barbary, I read there was to be a Christmas Market in Truro. It was called Best of Cornwall so I imagine it was not a big event; pasties rather than pastries I suspect. No, I am living quietly in the Dorset calm-before-the storm amongst the sick and tired. Everyone has the cough/cold/throat and all my attempts at haute cuisine have turned into meals-on-wheels. Saturday, the invitees couldn't come due to poor health so I took my slow roasted lamb round to daughter number one who was also stricken. Last night, having received a welcome invitation to dinner from one who is so exhausted that it evolved into 'something on a tray', I loaded up the car with Tartiflette and Apple Crumble and we gorged in front of a real fire.

I have visits or visitors every day and night this week but what I'm really looking forward to, recluse that I am, is Friday evening when I take myself to the BSO and choir's rendition of the Messiah. I'm not unsociable but I love Messiah and having once shared it at the Sheldonian with folk who got into a dreadful mess involving chewing gum, a fur collar and an unending attack of giggles, I now prefer to indulge myself alone. This, with the exception of exhausted friend who accompanied me to Christchurch Priory last year. After this, bring it on: all friends and family welcome for the festivities.