I seem to have finished the shopping. Except to pick up the fruit and veg orders, of course. Such a luxury, to hand that in, not expecting to go in and put it together myself at 5am on Christmas Eve. Although the years that Alex was a shopkeeper were happy ones. What he wanted was a shop that sold things that people really needed, not the occasnal frippery. He’s enjoying being a postman now, though, with paid holidays and everything. Quite a luxury. I’m with him there, I haven’t had a paid holiday since I was 19 years old and worked in Lowestoft Borough Library. The Sage has been self-employed since 1968, so he’s in the same boat. But anyway, this is an achievement. I’ve also written out my music for the carol service, and played it through. So, sad as it seems, I have no more excuses and seem to be on house-cleaning duty tomorrow. That this doesn’t happen often is apparent to the least observant visitor. Our last house, the ceilings were way up high, but even I can touch most of ours, which also means that the cobwebs are horribly visible. I don’t mind cobwebs, in fact, which seem to give a homely air to the place, but it’s when the develop dust bunnies of their own that it isn’t, perhaps, such a good look. I was going to tell you all sorts of things but I can’t remember now what they were. I had a nice chat this evening about chilli peppers, and have been promised some. The cows got out again, dammit, but Al suggested they went back to their field and they just trotted back, which reduced the drama of the occasion quite considerably. Maybe I’ll remember tomorrow what was more interesting than that about my day. In the meantime, darlings, rest assured that my life is more quiet and uneventful than yours is.