Maybe I should put up a Christmas poem. I’ll do that next. Hey ho... ho ho. Well, the house is all bright and sparkly. I’ve nearly finished the children’s story. It’s going well now that I’ve got a bit more time. The Molecules recording’s going well too. My mother’s gone home. Jill’s been in Nottingham this week but has returned – hooray! She's at home for the next few weeks now. Tomorrow - a friend’s birthday – we’re having a take away. Probably Indian. Talking of which - Jill has to visit the nurse tomorrow for her jabs in preparation for her Indian visit next year. I’m planning to finish the story by Friday. Then get the outline for the graphic novel finished next week. If I can do that and get the albums made by Christmas I’ll be well pleased. Meanwhile - Joe’s girlfriend’s family is coming on Sunday for a pre-Christmas dinner. Watch this space.
I was wondering. Do we, as adults, ever have a Christmas as good as the ones we had as children. Assuming we had a Christmas. Faith and privilege notwithstanding. Or do we just remember it being special? Was it rubbish really?