After a series of dire nights, I actually slept reasonably well yesterday and trotted down to the kitchen feeling quite bobbish, only to find Keith and Mum, having heard the hacking and coughing in the bathroom, making plans for my funeral eulogy. Frankly it sounded a bit disappointing – I’m not sure I’ll hang around on the astral plane for that… Anyway the day got off to a deeply frustrating start when I attempted to claim a delayed train refund from GWR whilst warming up a pain au raisin. It is now going on for 11pm and I remain unrefunded. (Whilst I could, as they suggest, beg a duplicate email from LNER (on who’s benighted app the ticket was purchased) the kill them all with a machine gun option really feels more promising at this stage.) As a result of the soul sapping attempts on the GWR website, when we finally set off to walk Lyra my mood rather matched the weather and neither was Christmassy. I am, though, Pollyanna at heart. Wandering along I peered in the crazed latticework of the hedges and found an abandoned nest and a moody sheep still sporting the green crayon mark of harlotry. Equilibrium reasserted itself.
Actually I am experiencing a curious, creeping sense of “time in hand” at the moment. I simply can’t think of anything much to panic about (other than the impending redelivery of all Mum’s furniture which will most certainly not fit in her new house and the fact that the kitchen fitter wants to finish the job on the same day as the removal men will be repatriating the world’s largest collection of wardrobes). Obviously this is delusional, it is December after all, but it is a satisfying delusion nonetheless. I am sure everyone will be very cheered by my Zen like tranquility when they unwrap the presents I was too mellow to buy…
Anyway, the upshot of all this relaxation was that I strolled up to the garret this afternoon in a devil may care manner and pootled idly away at the sewing machine with no sense of urgency. Looking at the photographic evidence this evening, I can see that the resultant Christmas stockings may not be an exact pair. Of the loving twosome for whom they are intended, one is going to have to claim the club foot…..
Anyway, day 4’s Advent quiz equation is: What causes Oak Apples (see pic below)
And the answer to yesterdays was: York – home of Terry’s and Rowntrees (though a friend in the West Country has pointed out there was also Fry’s in Bristol and a Twitter chum has noted Cadbury’s was founded near Birmingham).
“the green crayon mark of harlotry” – love it! I will never look at sheep the same again!