Queuing for Christmas
A less than ideal Christmas eve unfortunately. Poor Lorraine very ill with flu and confined to bed. I set off up to Fiveways to the butcher to collect the stuffed turkey breast we'd ordered and buy brussels sprouts and so on. The queue to the butchers stretched along the street for several shops, and I had to wait in the cold for an unbelievable hour and a quarter and pay a small fortune for the results. Felt like I had crossed through the Iron Curtain to 1980. However people made the most of it, and the butchers brought out mince pies and the cafe the queue passed sold coffee to people. Talking to the man before me in the queue, who was sensibly enough a Chelsea supporter, and had worked in Guernsey.
After picking up some vegetables and other bits, and walking home with them in my rucksack. I began to feel rather horrid. Climbed into bed with Lorraine, still wretched, feeling achey and hot eyed myself. Missed seeing Anton Anna and Brian and the children, as I felt too shattered to go out. Consoled at least, listening to the rain later, that we can draw up the drawbridge as we have plenty of food. Cats very happy that Lorraine and I are lounging about and taking every opportunity to sit on us.
Below apparently what we Brits do best.
After picking up some vegetables and other bits, and walking home with them in my rucksack. I began to feel rather horrid. Climbed into bed with Lorraine, still wretched, feeling achey and hot eyed myself. Missed seeing Anton Anna and Brian and the children, as I felt too shattered to go out. Consoled at least, listening to the rain later, that we can draw up the drawbridge as we have plenty of food. Cats very happy that Lorraine and I are lounging about and taking every opportunity to sit on us.
Below apparently what we Brits do best.
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