Road ahead, nativity and comedy.

1. To spot some friends from school a little way ahead of us and to stop for a quick socially-distanced chat.

2. Bettany's Beaver colony suggests we might like to watch the nativity put on by Tunbridge Wells Salvation Army whose hall we meet in when things are as they should be. They livecast it on YouTube, and it's absolutely lovely. 

3. I put on an episode of I'm Sorry I haven't A Clue and it makes Nick laugh.

Care, visit and stop.

1. A husband who is willing to rub my aching back muscles.

2. A friend comes by with a bottle of home-made creme de cassis that glows warm garrnet red with the light behind it. We take a couple of turns around the park to catch up and it does us both good. 

3. To stop work quite a while before bedtime.

Parcels, gingerbread ruin and sausage.

1. To bring parcels sent by godparents, aunts and uncles down to the Christmas tree. It's satisfying to see the gifts stacking up, and to send out parcels of our own -- but also a very sad reminder that we won't see them this year.

2. Alec gleefully sends a picture of my imploded gingerbread house to his uncle.

3. Bettany has strongly hinted that she would like a big Italian sausage for Christmas. The one she would really like is sold by the slice in the extremely expensive new Italian shop; and the slices are bigger than dinner plates. I hope she is satisfied with the slightly smaller example that Father Christmas has sourced.

2021, cards and pattern.

1. A delayed parcel arrives with next year's calendar. 

2. Bettany's stack of Christmas cards for her classmates.

3. The satisfaction of using a large stamping block. It never gets old, no matter how many times I repeat the pattern.

Grow, rags and wine.

1. I visioned myself stating the projects I want to grow and increase in the coming weeks beneath a beautiful silver crescent hanging elegantly in an indigo sky. The reality is that you can't see a new moon because it's completely dark. Also, it's cloudy, and this December moon goes new when it is below the horizon. And the children arrived home in the middle and interrupted me to tell me about their days. These are real life intentions, though, so I'm not going to let the perfect get in the way of the good. 

2. To dump six bags of old clothes in the rag bins at the firestation. We've found it difficult to get rid of rags  during the pandemic. It's made me hesitate to buy new things that we badly need, and the bags were cluttering up our storage space.

3. That glass of wine went straight to my head.

Lie in, another person and decimals.

1. To sleep in as long as I want to and still wake up before everyone else.

2. Godmother Larlie swings by with a Christmas box. We keep her on the doorstep chatting because we're so pleased to see another person.

3. Alec wonders at the magic of maths, until decimal sums seem to glitter like a treasure hoard.

Light, clear and dealt with.

1. This morning is strange lightwise as I move along the way home. In places streaks and wisps of mist; in places bright winter sun. But by the time I get to my desk there are dark clouds rolling in from Ashdown Forest.

2. Looking at my plan for the day and seeing that I have a good long clear stretch for working: no calls, no obligations.

3. Nick takes the malfunctioning smoke alarm away and deals with it.