Apologies for the intermittent nature of my posts this week; you know what it’s like in the run-up to Christmas: shopping, visits out, glasses of wine to drink, visits to us, glasses of wine to drink, turkey defrost calcualtions to maik, glashes of wine to drink, visits to the ductor, washes of gline, preshunts to exshange, clashes of wane to dunk, whine….
The Hub made apple and meat pies yesterday. Um, let me rephrase that: the Hub made two apple pies and two meat pies and one apple & mango pie, and fifteen large sausage rolls with proper sausages (it should have been sixteen but I stole a sausage when he wasn’t looking). The Hub was in bed for six o’clock. He over-estimated his energy level and the time it would take to bake. Never mind: the CFS might do for him but at least we’ll eat well.
We will have one of the meat pies for tonight’s dinner. We didn’t have it last night because I had prepared chicken stoup in my slow cooker. Chicken stoup is what I call it because I’m not certain if it was stew or soup. Whatever: it tasted good; who cares what it looked like?
You will notice the absence of photos on my blog today: I was going to post a picture of the Incredible Bearded Baby but the computer had a hissy fit and refused to play with me. When the Hub wakes up, I’ll kick him downstairs to come and sort it out.
The prompt for this week’s We Write Poems was to say what you want. I want to have some serious writing time, but that’s not happening this week, so here’s a senryu I got as a result of two spare minutes in the bathroom:
What I Want
I want my husband
to be well again. I want
him to play football
with his children. I
want our lives back: say what you
want, I don’t aim low.
But that was too grim so I had fun instead:
You Can’t Always Get What You Want
Beauty Queen: I want world peace
Megalomaniac: I want the world, piece by piece
I had planned to write a load more (Old-Fashioned Pudding: I want pease) but I had baking to supervise (i.e. clean up after) so I’ll come back to it in the New Year.
If you want to know in seventeen syllables who will rule the world after a nuclear holocaust, go to my other blog.
Sorry if this post is somewhat downbeat for the season, but today is the tenth anniversary of my darling Dad’s death. He was 64 and lung cancer brought on by lifelong smoking killed him.
He was a funny man, always joking. I miss him. I would post a photo if this stupid computer wasn’t sulking.
That’s enough gloom for today. Our plans are: a lot of cleaning (me, delegating to Spud); a lot of cooking (turkey & gammon are sizzling in the oven right now); a visit to the cemetery followed by a walk (me, husband, dogs, youngest son); a lot of nail-biting (me: will Tory Boy’s train get through in time?); and a glash or tree of Bick’s Fuzz.
Merry Christmas to you all, or any other holiday you might be celebrating.
Thank you for making my blogging year a successful one!