I'm dreaming...
Early this morning, by which I mean around 10am, I was tucking into tea and toast and marmelade. My parents were out in the cold, cold snow collecting the butchers' order. I sent forth an sms, because I'd forgotten to ask a favour: please could they bring me five Brussel's sprouts.
My dad arrived back with the turkey, and the news that the mother had diverted to the greengrocer's to acquire my sprouts and also to acquire some extra potatoes in response to an sos from the neighbours. She brought me my bag of sprouts, without so much as enquiring why I suddenly demanded such an odd thing (when the frozen sprouts for the dinner tomorrow are already in waiting).
The answer is, of course, that I'm going to take on Time Out's suggestion and try sprout conkers. And there are five of us. And I figured that even resectable souls like the mother will want to join in when she sees it happening. I will report back tomorrow on whether it is fun or not. For those concerned about food waste, I love sprouts and will happily eat the bits.
I'm not sure I can remember a proper white Christmas before. It made the journey north last night rather more exciting (and time-consuming) than normal, as the band of falling snow seemed to be travelling north at about the same speed as a car in a snowstorm could travel north. It certainly made this afternoon's short walk round to the godparents' to swap presents harder work than usual, and makes the prospect of driving anywhere distinctly unappealing.
Not that that puts me off snow, of course. It is a well-documented fact that I love snow. Even driving up the A1, peering between the flakes and trying to stay approximately in lane, I could be heard squeaking "ooooh, snow!" Even today's slippery slidey walk was worth it for the snowmen, sparkling vistas, and rather curvaceous snow woman passed on the way.
The friends I usually go out with on Christmas Eve are variously not in Darlington this year, or under a baby. So I'm all tucked up in the warm. Any minute now, I shall sort myself out a glass of wine and wait for QI to start.
My dad arrived back with the turkey, and the news that the mother had diverted to the greengrocer's to acquire my sprouts and also to acquire some extra potatoes in response to an sos from the neighbours. She brought me my bag of sprouts, without so much as enquiring why I suddenly demanded such an odd thing (when the frozen sprouts for the dinner tomorrow are already in waiting).
The answer is, of course, that I'm going to take on Time Out's suggestion and try sprout conkers. And there are five of us. And I figured that even resectable souls like the mother will want to join in when she sees it happening. I will report back tomorrow on whether it is fun or not. For those concerned about food waste, I love sprouts and will happily eat the bits.
I'm not sure I can remember a proper white Christmas before. It made the journey north last night rather more exciting (and time-consuming) than normal, as the band of falling snow seemed to be travelling north at about the same speed as a car in a snowstorm could travel north. It certainly made this afternoon's short walk round to the godparents' to swap presents harder work than usual, and makes the prospect of driving anywhere distinctly unappealing.
Not that that puts me off snow, of course. It is a well-documented fact that I love snow. Even driving up the A1, peering between the flakes and trying to stay approximately in lane, I could be heard squeaking "ooooh, snow!" Even today's slippery slidey walk was worth it for the snowmen, sparkling vistas, and rather curvaceous snow woman passed on the way.
The friends I usually go out with on Christmas Eve are variously not in Darlington this year, or under a baby. So I'm all tucked up in the warm. Any minute now, I shall sort myself out a glass of wine and wait for QI to start.