So that was Christmas.
‘A year older and not a penny richer.’ E Scrooge Esq.
But I do have a bottle of rum now, which I didn’t before – one of the bottled Christmas presents. I’m not a rum drinker; it tends to give me a headache. But at least if ever I have a visitor, and I say ‘Would you like a drink?’ and she (she?) says ‘I only like rum,’ I can say ‘Well, fancy that. I have rum. Should we splice the mainbrace now or later?’ And then she can giggle and say ‘Oh, Jeffrey, you are a one!’ and I can say ‘Not any more I’m not. There are at least twenty seven people in here. Which one would you like to communicate with?’ And then she’ll frown and I’ll wish I’d said something different.
Do you know what I found in the oven this morning? Cobwebs. That’s how much I use the oven. I’ve had this cooker for three years and I’ll bet I haven’t used the oven more than about ten times – and most of them were to make apple and rhubarb crumbles to use up some of the rhubarb in the garden. The word ‘oven’ sounds expensive to me, and at least it means I haven’t had to clean it yet.
I wonder whether Sarah survived the Christmas Day she didn’t want to take part in. She hasn’t dropped onto the blog tonight, which is either a gross dereliction of duty, an indication that she isn’t happy, an indication that she’s too happy to be bothered with me, an indication that she’s too tired to press a few buttons, or an indication that I’ve offended her.
‘Dereliction’ is an odd word. It suggests there should be a verb ‘to derelict.’ Must look it up.
I was going to make mention of the Pope’s Midnight Mass message, the one I thought was pretty damn silly, but I don’t want to go into Christian dogma at the moment. After all, my dears, it is Christmas.