You can’t mention Dave Allen’s stale bread too many times. It’s good enough to bring up again (the sketch, not the bread), which is why I’m doing so. (The idea that you can’t have today’s freshly baked bread until you’ve eaten the stale bread, and then tomorrow you…)
Usually at this time of year I plan what I will read over Christmas. I might have one or two really special books, and I decide that reading them will be my Christmas present to myself.
And every year I remember – too late – that I never have time to read, between getting food onto the table and taking it off again, and the odd other bit of household chore. The kind that’s quicker to do yourself than to ask someone to help you with.
So right now I’m reading a Christmas book. There are more than two weeks left, and whereas I’ve made no preparations at all, I’ve been feeling slightly off-colour, so am permitting myself to read.
It’s the one that arrived last week, but isn’t published until May next year, and it was either read it now or find that it has to be hurriedly done in five month’s time. Because somehow Christmas, the tables and fifty other books got in between me and it.
And, well, I reckon we can always buy food instead of cooking. Had a quick look online. Sainsbury’s believe party food is a packet of crisps, and Marks & Spencer had the most divine looking canapés [almost] ever. It’ll be a hard choice.
I know. I’ll be making them myself. But one can dream a little.