Here we all are, Family Munster dovegrey on Christmas Day, unusually all in the same place at the same time, about to sit down for dinner and sporting our joke Christmas Teeth. These are an annual tradition in our non-existent (this year) homemade crackers...don't we all look lovely in that Devon backwoods hillbilly sort of way? There's Offspringette on the left with the Gamekeeper behind, then me, the Tinker, Bookhound sporting traditional daft hat (before the pudding - brandy - premature match - eyebrow incident) and the Kayaker.
So we recover from all that Christmas idleness and just get going again and now it's time to be lazy once more for New Year.
The tree has been up long enough so we will de-festivate soon and pack it all away. It's just not going to make it to Twelfth Night still looking like a tree, more like an upright with occasional offshoots which is also starting to smell like a dead tree. Gone is the lingering fragrance of fresh spruce and I have my doubts about this much-lauded non-needle-shed capability. They look ready to roll to me and I suspect it will drop the lot as we try to wrestle it out of the front door because we will also have forgotten that we've tied it to the ceiling.
The Tinker heard a useful tip on the radio that he was keen to share with me yesterday as I fondly reminisced over his decorations which are all as old as me if not older. In these times of credit-crunching recessive depression someone has come up with a real money-saver...why not pack away your Christmas deccies carefully and then you could use them again next year?
This has left us all speechless, where on earth has this radio person been?
Are we really the only people in the land who have done that since about 1926 anyway?
Does everyone else go out and buy new deccies every year?
Surely not.
Anyway we probably are one of the few who metaphorically scrape the snow off the remains of the beautifully iced Christmas cake, remove the snowman, the santa, the reindeer, the Man Utd football players (don't ask, it's tradition) and stick in a candle for Bookhound's birthday on Friday. Metaphorical as in I never did get around to making that cake in October, feeding it slavishly and icing it lavishly, so he might have to make do with a battenburg from the Co-Op or something.
In fact nor did we get around to sending Christmas cards in the end.
Suddenly we just felt like a year off and this will mean letters start to arrive in January asking if we are divorced / ill / detained at Her Majesty's Pleasure...no no everyone, we are fine, look at us, a picture of rural chic. I promise I'll catch up next year.
Anyway, wishing you all a very happy New Year with much happy reading too, and of course best wishes from Rocky who is still doing an awful lot of this sun-puddle-bathing after his dovesleigh adventures.
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