It feels like Christmas came early this year
Gosh. It's snowy up here in Darlington. Apparently it wasn't particularly snowy up until we were about twenty minutes away last night, whereupon the sky threw snow around madly for around twenty five minutes. We arrived in appalling driving conditions, then the weather promptly settled down into a smug, festive, picturesque backdrop.
Today began with a trek down to the butchers to collect the Christmas order. I'd inadvertently given the mother the slip on the way, and arrived in the butchers just as she was paying for the order. "Aha, and you'll be carrying this" said the butcher, over her shoulder. Cheers, Derek, and a happy Christmas to you too.
Not only is the mother on first-name terms with her butcher (now retired, but helping his son out in the Christmas rush) but he knows to match her up with me. Before we'd completed the five minute walk home, the mother had also narrowly avoided a famously loquacious school friend of hers, and explained to me that the nice man who told us the cashpoint was out of order is the Singaporean stand-in priest at the local RC chuch. I have lived in three different places, and I think of that as a rather low number; I still sometimes envy those who've chosen to live in the same town all their life and the permanent, rootedness that brings.
While wandering around the snowy shops, I spied a small piece of paper someone had dropped on the floor. It read:
Cat litter
Beer
Turkey
Nice priorities. Having lost the list, I wonder if they remembered everything.
I think the village[*] was quieter than I'd expect on Christmas Eve. Elderly men walked carefully through the snow with sticks and sensible hiking boots. Youths shuffled about in tracksuits and trainers, slithering in the slush.
Long-term readers - who remember the days when major Christmas festivals in this house invariably involved power tools and violence - will be delighted to hear that my Dad recently acquired his very own reciprocating saw. I think he was positively disappointed that the Christmas tree was small enough to fit into the space available. There is a pile of small tree branches which are, however, not quite small enough to fit in the grate so I imagine we'll be out there wreaking electrically-powered havoc before very much longer.
In fact, the tree was almost not quite big enough:
ChrisC started rummaging around in the baubles box and passing me baubles to hang on the tree. "How many of these are we putting on?" he asked.
"All of them!" I replied, surprised.
The parents conferred quickly. It was not, they decided, possible to fit all the baubles, bangles and bright shiny beads contained in the box on the tree.
Now, I do like a challenge.
It was difficult. I don't think anyone of good taste would have carried on after the first wave of baublage. And finding those boxes containing two dozen silver icicles nearly knocked my confidence (they're a recent acquisition, leftover from a Christmas display at church).
But I think you'll have to agree, we managed it:
In deference to common sense, I agreed not to add tinsel.
Right...
The decorations are up, the presents are wrapped, the fire's glowing cheerfully. Another scuttle full of coal and a glass of wine and that'll do nicely. Happy Christmas, all.
[*] Yes, Darlington is largeish town, not a village. I'm talking about Cockerton, which is a self-contained village which was eaten by Darlington's expansion decades ago.
Today began with a trek down to the butchers to collect the Christmas order. I'd inadvertently given the mother the slip on the way, and arrived in the butchers just as she was paying for the order. "Aha, and you'll be carrying this" said the butcher, over her shoulder. Cheers, Derek, and a happy Christmas to you too.
Not only is the mother on first-name terms with her butcher (now retired, but helping his son out in the Christmas rush) but he knows to match her up with me. Before we'd completed the five minute walk home, the mother had also narrowly avoided a famously loquacious school friend of hers, and explained to me that the nice man who told us the cashpoint was out of order is the Singaporean stand-in priest at the local RC chuch. I have lived in three different places, and I think of that as a rather low number; I still sometimes envy those who've chosen to live in the same town all their life and the permanent, rootedness that brings.
While wandering around the snowy shops, I spied a small piece of paper someone had dropped on the floor. It read:
Cat litter
Beer
Turkey
Nice priorities. Having lost the list, I wonder if they remembered everything.
I think the village[*] was quieter than I'd expect on Christmas Eve. Elderly men walked carefully through the snow with sticks and sensible hiking boots. Youths shuffled about in tracksuits and trainers, slithering in the slush.
Long-term readers - who remember the days when major Christmas festivals in this house invariably involved power tools and violence - will be delighted to hear that my Dad recently acquired his very own reciprocating saw. I think he was positively disappointed that the Christmas tree was small enough to fit into the space available. There is a pile of small tree branches which are, however, not quite small enough to fit in the grate so I imagine we'll be out there wreaking electrically-powered havoc before very much longer.
In fact, the tree was almost not quite big enough:
ChrisC started rummaging around in the baubles box and passing me baubles to hang on the tree. "How many of these are we putting on?" he asked.
"All of them!" I replied, surprised.
The parents conferred quickly. It was not, they decided, possible to fit all the baubles, bangles and bright shiny beads contained in the box on the tree.
Now, I do like a challenge.
It was difficult. I don't think anyone of good taste would have carried on after the first wave of baublage. And finding those boxes containing two dozen silver icicles nearly knocked my confidence (they're a recent acquisition, leftover from a Christmas display at church).
But I think you'll have to agree, we managed it:
In deference to common sense, I agreed not to add tinsel.
Right...
The decorations are up, the presents are wrapped, the fire's glowing cheerfully. Another scuttle full of coal and a glass of wine and that'll do nicely. Happy Christmas, all.
[*] Yes, Darlington is largeish town, not a village. I'm talking about Cockerton, which is a self-contained village which was eaten by Darlington's expansion decades ago.