venta

Well, here we all are again, then.

Just about.

I think it's fair to say that this year [*] has not quite gone to plan. I mean, we're nowhere near 2020 levels of off-the-rails, but it's all been a bit disorganised.

( Seasonal Shambles )

[*] OK, so I was about to say "we've put the decorations up, we've got the fire in, but my Dad has not yet offered me a pint". Which is basically an outrage, excepting the fact that we've only just finished the bottle of wine from dinner. Anyway, I'd got the laptop out and got as far as the asterisk when Dad bestirred from under his newspaper and proffered a beer.

I've now got a nice pint of Boondoggle, and Dad's got an Evil Elf and, due to a mild and unspecified mishap, the kitchen rug has had a pint of Two Hoots.

Cheers all around.

Hey. It's been a while. But it's Christmas, which is a time for traditions. So here we are.

Last year, there was a brief hiatus in the annual visitation to my family home. This year we're back for a Completely Normal Christmas. Definitely Normal. ChrisC and I have piled up the motorway[*], singing along to the Christmas compilation albums he made, and to the festive quick-fire found from Pappy's. We've collected the order from the butcher and I've made up the pigs in blankets and the stuffing for tomorrow; we've put the tree and the decorations up; we've got a fire going. Things are in their usual places. Dad and I have a pint each.

All sounding normal, no?

Sadly, some unexpected companions accompanied us this year. One is a sort of scientific angel, which sits on my shoulder. It says things like "you've been very careful in the run up to Christmas" and "you're doing daily lateral flow tests", and "all your relatives, however elderly and unwell, are extremely vaccinated (as are you)".

On the other shoulder, sits Little Devil Doubt. Little Devil Doubt likes to keep reminding me that I've come from London, where infection rates are currently through the roof. And that many of my friends who are also sensible, careful people have contracted Covid just the same. "Are you sure," it says, "that that little sniffle you have is just because you helped ChrisC's parents move a load of dusty boxes out of storage? Are you sure it's just an allergy? Do you maybe have a slight sore throat, too? You're still sneezing. You've been into shops this week. Can you trust lateral flow tests? Isn't your throat feeling a bit sore? Don't forget that Rach had Covid for a few days before she tested positive. And G caught Covid at a party where everyone had tested negative beforehand. And T had what he thought was a cold, tested negative twice, and infected three other people with Covid... Are you sure you don't have a sore throat?"

Little Devil Doubt is, of course, particularly fond of saying things like this to me in the middle of the night when I'm trying to sleep. I'm not a fan but, sadly, LDD appears to have a rather louder and more insistent voice than Science Angel.

It is not, to be honest, the most restful approach to Christmas. But I am well aware that many people are having much worse Christmases, for all kinds of reasons. If some 3am panic is the worst that happens to me, I will have nothing to complain about.

Of course, an un-looked for benefit of travelling to the far north is that the chemists here actually have lateral flow tests in stock. I picked some up, which means we can now test profligately instead of worrying that we might run out. And I was here to explicate the now-slightly-bureaucratic process for acquiring same to my Dad.

I've spoken to my parents' very-vulnerable neighbour on the phone, rather than popping round. I've run some errands for my also-quite-unwell uncle (including posting a card... at least... I think I posted a card... I left his house with it, and wound up back at my parents' without it... but I have absolutely zero memory of putting it in a postbox... surely I posted it...). I've bumped into random neighbours and said 'hi' (including a hilarious pelican crossing experience where three people crossed from each side, and each one stopped briefly for a chat with the person coming towards them in the opposite direction).

Tomorrow, there's going to be a certain amount of driving people around, and generally trying to make sure everyone's OK. Due to a Covid-related care-mixup, my mum will be running a carefully-edited Christmas dinner round to the aforementioned vulnerable neighbour. But tomorrow, there will also be good cheer, company, a fire and, of course, pigs in blankets. We'll be OK.

Take care everyone. I hope you're warm, and safe, and that everyone you care about is healthy. Have a good day tomorrow.

[*] Ish. Owing to shocking traffic, we came up the A1 instead of the M1, which is only (M) for some of the way.

Aye up. It's Christmas, you know the drill. I head up to my parents' housein Durham, and write a post about how we have a nice fire and lots of beer and so on.

( Well. )

I hope you're OK. Whatever you do, or don't do, for Christmas: have a good one.

Evening, DW/LJ. I've not been around here much of late; work has been eating my life somewhat and apparently writing (and, to a large extent, reading) blogs has been one of the things that went by the board.

But I'm home for Christmas, and one of the traditions of Christmas Eve is a post, so here I am doing it.

( This year... )

I hope, wherever you are, you're having a peaceful and happy one.

Evening, all.

When I was little, Christmas Eve had a pretty well-established pattern. To be honest, it still does, although this year was a bit off-point as ChrisC and I only rolled into Darlington mid-afternoon. But one of the parts of the pattern when I was small was to go into town for the Crib Service and (either before or after) to potter across the market place to the town clock.

Grouped around the base of the town clock were the people the mother always referred to as "the holly men". They were not, in fact, some kind of sinister shadow force written into existence by Mr Gaiman, but a small group of guys selling holly. Not fancy wreaths, or arrangements, just holly. We'd buy a bundle and bring it home to tuck sprigs behind pictures and - if at all possible - for general decking of halls.

( The Problem of the Holly )

So, Christmas-time. It's pretty traditional round here, as you may recall. We have little in the way of innovation. However, in the course of decorating the house this afternoon, the mother requested I do something that (within my memory) has never been done...

( Hoop-la! )

So, decorations up, log fire burning, turkey giblets on the stove making stock for gravy tomorrow. Several yards of Cumberland sausage linked, some turned into pigs-in-blankets, stuffing made up, a bit of advanced vegetable peeling done. That's Christmas eve round these parts :)

In my family, there's a bit of a tradition of giving lots of small Christmas presents rather than one big one. I like it; unless there happens to be a large and obvious present that someone actually wants, of course, a mixed bag of parcels always seems far more exciting.

The obvious problem, though, is that buying stocking fillers is tricky. You don't want anything terribly pricey, which risks meaning cheap tat that no one wants. And which may well have been made in dubious working conditions and sent halfway round the world. I hate giving the sort of presents which I fear will either be chucked out after a few days, or end up gathering dust in a corner somewhere because someone feels guilty chucking them out.

However! I have what I consider to be a fail-safe stocking-filler idea, which works for almost everyone.

( Venta's Smashing Stocking-filler Idea )

Christmas Eve? It must be time for the annual bulletin from the north.

( Rain, baubles, sausages )