Wait until next year

I would happily eat mince pies all year round. I’m considering stockpiling them to make that possible. 

Or perhaps I should just learn how to bake them. 

Or accept that the value is in the scarcity, like all good things.

Christmas shopping is fine, it’s the wrapping that is exhausting. Only now do I have a grudging admiration for those people who have everything bought and wrapped by mid-September.

I should have probably soundtracked the evening with carols or Christmas songs, but went for the old miserable songs of my younger days. I’m certainly a lot happier these days, even if everything gets more complicated the older you get.

And like all good mundane tasks the wrapping gave me some space to think, to consider the year. I’m still none the wiser, to be honest. But it never hurts to have a little mull now and then. Better to mull the year than the wine, I say.

A day of Christmas shopping. Some people will try to convince you this is a stupid, hellish experience. And yet it was lovely. It felt so much more meaningful than just clicking on websites. Maybe I’m just a luddite, maybe I’m just a sentimental fool.

There were moments of gentle humanity and humour. The kindness of shop staff, the heroes of the season. Fellow shoppers opening doors for each other. The woman at the fast food place who took my tray to empty in the bin after emptying her own. The bus driver, seeing a woman holding a huge hamper at the upcoming stop, miming “For me? You shouldn’t have!” as he pulled up.

Basking in the late morning beerlight

The low winter sun passes the pub glass

One frost through another

Another glass raised

Rare for such blue skies on a Monday

Or to see the cold but not feel it