Below the cut: Pp in his Christmas jumper with the Christmas puddings on it, which has seen much wear this year:
And my mother, sadly devoid of a Christmas jumper. I don't know if she has one. Perhaps a future present? :-D
Some time before Christmas, Pp declared that it would be a very fine thing if we had Yorkshire Puddings on Christmas day. I agreed that this would indeed be a fine thing, but pointed out that if I was cooking the meat and most of the veg, I was damned if I was going to cook the Yorkshire puddings as well, and therefore a man capable of building his own computer from bits was also capable of assembling a Yorkshire pud. So, over the past month we ate a number of Yorkshire puds, culminating in these.
You may wonder why he's pulling that face. He's pulling that face because when he got them out of the oven, all the smoke alarms went off and there was a Terrifying and Seemingly Endless Penetrating Beeping, so loud that I fled into the garden.
But eventually it ended, and I came back in and ate roast duck with everyone else, and in fact my mother did a lot of the vegetables in the end, so I got off lightly really.
It was an odd Christmas this year, the first since Pp's mother died unexpectedly in Feb, but we managed a pretty cheerful celebration.
The next day I took Rosie for a long walk. It was rather a grey day, but enlivened a little by this telephone box in Latchley, which no longer has a telephone, but instead is full of a Christmas tree. This is a great improvement over the previous occupant, a terrifying vaguely Victorian-clad figurine with a papier-mache face that always gave me the oojies when I went past it.
The festive season has been much enlivened by Gothmog kitten, who is now vastly confident, hilarious, and very very fast. Our remaining problem with her is to prevent her from molesting poor Rosie for her own amusement. They shared a bed yesterday, but poor Rosie is not keen on the rough kitten play of Awake & Riotous Gothmog who races up to the top of the big cat tree and flings herself joyously at a dog ten times her size...
Poor Fankil is still in hiding! But I bought Pp an infra-red motion-sensitive camera for Christmas, and so at least we can see him. He seems to mostly get up when we go to bed!