Wishing all my readers a lovely few days, and I’ll see you the other side of the turkeys and hams and whatever else you like. And hoping we’ll all enjoy some kind of Christmas book flood, even if not on an Icelandic scale.
There are different schools of thought for how to do Christmas. To do what you grew up with. Or to do anything but.
I try to relive my childhood Christmases as much as is possible, considering I am surrounded by people who didn’t share my experiences – so haven’t got a clue. And it doesn’t snow as much as it did.
Thank goodness for that.
But what strikes me when I think about this harking back to the past, is that for a generation who now wants so much from life, that what I had then can be remembered as so attractive that I feel the need to copy what we had.
We weren’t wealthy at all. Presents were fairly limited by today’s standards. Space must have been an issue when we all got together. And I’m guessing the cooking of all that food and the adults ‘having to’ get on with each other wasn’t as seamless as it appeared to us little ones.
But I was very happy with my lot. A bit frightened that time I ran to answer the door and the real Father Christmas was standing there, but he brought gifts, so I could be persuaded not to be scared after a while.
I think that’s all I wanted for Offspring too. Not an expensively magical time. Just some of our own magic.
Churros £6. Thanks, but I don’t think so.
Daughter and I did the Christmas market in Princes Street Gardens yesterday. We did it remarkably quickly, despite me hobbling slowly. There is only so much tat – even if good-looking tat – that a witch needs to buy, and for me that goal was reached years ago. Besides, it drizzled a bit, and it was too early for the pretty lights.
We were there because Daughter wanted a British style German style Christmas market, if you know what I mean? Freshly arrived from the Continent – where they supposedly have the ‘real’ thing – we discovered we only wanted some churros. I wonder how many people pay the £6? And if it is because they didn’t realise until it was too late, or because they didn’t want to disappoint little Jake/Olivia?
I had crawled out of bed early enough to be taken to the station before the Resident IT Consultant had to be at the dentist’s, so I could go and visit Son and inspect the latest changes to his home. I said hello to the old Encyclopaedia Britannica, which has now been adopted by Dodo and Son. Looking good with Christmas lights and tinsel. The Encyclopaedia, I mean. Son wore his normal t-shirt, and Dodo was in New York, presumably wearing something suitable and not tinsel.
Also admired the Grandparents’ former sofa and armchair, now residing with their new owners and having new cushions.
And I was fed coffee and a pistachio bun, and we talked about who might be behind the secret pseudonym of a book soon to be published in Sweden, when the secret apparently will be revealed. I suppose it’s as though J K Rowling wrote as Robert Galbraith, all the time intending to make the big announcement when the book was released. Except on a smaller, Swedish scale.
I left Son to translate some more, going to find Daughter, whose plane had landed, having lunch at our second choice of restaurant, before that churro moment. And as it seemed to be a day for early trains, we caught an earlier one and went home.