Good Morning Dear Friends and welcome to Christmas Eve !
It's not yet light and yours truly sits tip-tapping like a blind-man's cane at his dusty keys in an effort to put something back into the ether for the festive season.
Following my last posting I have received some comments on here and Faecesbucket that have made me hang my head in shame and have a bit of a Jimmy-Stewart-talking-to-Clarence moment; some of you poor misguided fools have written to thank me for scribbling this rubbish and point out that you do look forward to reading the blog even though you may not comment which has made me realise, somewhat tardily and however inadvertently, that it is far better to give than to receive . . . and so, lesson learned and taken to heart, here we are again, sitting in the library and wondering what the day will bring . . .
Since last we spoke I've spent the time with friends and family, sorting out the pre-yule stuff that needs to be completed before our visitor this evening; I spent a wee while yesterday with my #1 son and The Old Duchess who, against advice and wisdom, decided to see to a couple of tasks outside the stately pile and managed to slip on the ice! Thankfully, she is nothing more than bruised and shaken, but still a worry - grrr! As for my son . . . well, I have a son of whom I am exceptionally proud and who I love unconditionally and have done so since his first moment on earth; he is now a strapping youth, taller than his doddery old father and we spent the afternoon sitting with the OD and he talked animatedly about strategic geography . . .I was fascinated both by his knowledge and his enthusiasm! We don't see each other very often but when we do it is a meeting of hearts and minds, which is all I can ask for, don't you think? Then yesterday evening, as I had borrowed a car, I gave him a lift to his girlfriend's house for a gaming party . . . so very strange, how the years go; I still remember in Wheal Dream in St Ives . . . him draped against my shoulder with his arms around my neck as I sang him to sleep with the Skye Boat Song . . . ah me!
I also spent a very lovely time with a dear friend amid the snow-clad rural Cheshire acres; it was almost like being back in time - a time before trains certainly as, on the way there, they were being cancelled rapidly and when it came time for me to wend my weary way back to the Wigwam, all had disappeared! I was very kindly chauffeured in style back to the grubby enclave and twisted streets of Candle Court to ponder the wisdom once more of abandoning the countryside for the town . . . Many years ago I lived amongst the warped moss of the coastal plane and loved the wide emptiness of it all; the way the roads became impassable in certain weathers, how, in summer, I could lose myself amongst hedgerows and listen to drunken bees buzzing and drowzing, how there was space and time enough for animals and children and thoughts . . . living in the BPS does have its advantages of course; town is seconds away and with it, the delights of Nero and what have you, but I miss the silence and the stillness . . . I sat at a table and looked out across the snow and just soaked in the hiss of nothing . . . bliss!
However, back in reality it is time for me to attend to my beautification and set about the day with great Gusto (a very close and personal friend of immense Joy!); I am, once again, driving across to the stately pile to see our injured dowager and make sure she isn't attempting any further Sonja Henie impressions and to attend to any last minute tasks that will, undoubtedly, arise.
Thanks you to all the people who wrote to me and slapped my wrists with love - it was timely, needed and appreciated. I wish you all a lovely Yule and hope that each moment of it is happier than the last!
'til next time
Be Seeing You !