Backwards, and forwards

I seem to be writing less and less in my postings. Maybe I should go back to the good old days of exactly 250 words per blog. Or maybe not. There’s enough insanity in the world without me going back to those habits.

Sorry to mention the ‘C’ word, but we’ve been talking about Christmas this evening. It’s going to be a lot more complicated this year, with visits to Philippa’s folks to fit in, and my work situation being different. One thing’s certain though - we’ll be at Ted and Beryl’s for Christmas evening. We’ve been invited already, and I wouldn’t miss it for all the cake in Cambridge. I did say to Ted “are you sure Beryl doesn’t fancy a year off?”
He said “don’t ever say that; especially to her. Beryl not cooking on Christmas Day would be like the Sun not rising in the morning. If I ever told her she couldn’t be the big hostess on the big day, it would kill her.”
We’re round there again on Sunday, so she can try out a new way of roasting potatoes. I don’t know where she keeps getting these ideas from, but I love being one of her guinea pigs. We’ll turn up with a cheesecake and an offer to wash up, and of course she’ll refuse both. What a woman.

RC 23-11-11