Monday, December 23, 2024

After shopping, second to last bottle of red and Jupiter.

1. Arm-in-arm, rather pleased with our bags of shopping, we cross the park.

2. The second-to-last bottle of red in the cellar turns out to be really quite nice -- Sicilian, very light and refreshing. 'Let's have this again.'

3. Ragged clouds, a few stars. Jupiter watches me home.

Friday, December 20, 2024

Coffee, right there and advent calendar.

1. The coffee this morning is very tasty. There is no particular reason that we can discern. Perhaps we were just ready for it, and our biscuit and for each other.

2. Of course the very thing I've been trailing all round town for is in the pharmacy on the hill, well made and intended to last a lifetime, and best of all, of itself, rather than freighted with other items in a three for two deal.

3. Bettany and I lie comfortably across the bed checking our advent calendar app to see what the day has brought.

Thursday, December 19, 2024

Cuddly, cheese board and anthology.

1. Alec unwell is daft and cuddly like a toddler. He comes up and lies in our bed while I'm working at my desk. This feels like a gift.

2. I'm still thinking about the superior camembert from the new fancy cheese shop that we had for lunch after supper, so I have a little more on fingers of rye crispbread.

3. From the introduction, I get the sense that the anthologist believes that perfect short stories exist; and that she has chosen stories for their excellence, and not because of obligations sent down from the marketing department. 

Wednesday, December 18, 2024

Expanded, on their way and an eerie evening.

1. To my surprise, the dried mushrooms I put in to soak last night have more than doubled in size.

2. I've been chasing around today trying to find somewhere to post my parcels. I don't have high hopes for the Post Office in the centre of town: I'm expecting a long queue -- but I stroll straight in, and minutes later, the boxes that have been burdening me are on their way.

3. The name 'Miss Minerva Tomgallon' popped into my head in the middle of the night and I dug out a copy of Anne of Windy Willows so I could enjoy reading about that eerie visit once again.


Tuesday, December 17, 2024

Bag of books, find and carried home.

1. My shopping bag is heavy with books.

2. I realise that the pink flower paperweight I have picked up in a charity shop has a tiny glass frog hidden within.

3. A man passes by pushing a bike. He has a small Christmas tree tucked into his backpack. 

Monday, December 16, 2024

Rammed, warzone and algebra.

1. The new bookshop is rammed with shoppers, which is a good thing for the owners.

2. We agree that with a bit of icing and some coils of liquorice barbed wire, it will look less like gingerbread and more like the first world war trench he needs for his history class.

3. My youngest is learning algebra, and I feel both happy and sad about that.

Thursday, December 12, 2024

Morning visit, taste in music and reflection.

1. Eating cake, gossiping and stepping Nana through sending a text message. 

2. There is really nothing to do but enjoy the irony of a teenager criticising your taste in music because a particular track is 'just noise'.

3. Bettany and I are looking at her baby photos. We know who took the picture because they are reflected in her pupils.

After shopping, second to last bottle of red and Jupiter.

1. Arm-in-arm, rather pleased with our bags of shopping, we cross the park. 2. The second-to-last bottle of red in the cellar turns out to b...