It feels like Christmas nearly every day. The book parcels keep coming, and it’s very nice. Thank you, publishers. We were discussing Christmas presents last night, and I said that this year I don’t think a book will be the most welcome present as far as I am concerned.
Some years ago we redesigned the way we buy Christmas presents, anyway. Now it’s strictly charity shop purchases, which does away with wish lists. You just go to an Oxfam or two and stare at what they’ve got, and surprisingly often something that would be perfect for little X pops into sight. The book about Mornington Crescent comes to mind. Or the gold angel.
And the underlying agreement is that we can take it back to Oxfam in January, should it be all wrong. We just want something to unwrap on Christmas Eve. Which is why I’m thinking of this now. It’s the 24th today, so exactly a month to the unwrapping. (And I’ve saved an awful lot of the middle pages of the Guardian to wrap the stuff in.)
We’re off to the Christmas fair at the Scandinavian church. If you’re anywhere near Liverpool, it’s on from 12-3, in Park Lane. I’ll sell you a calendar if you come.