Shovel Not Required

L has arranged the collection of our Christmas Day goose for around 7am this morning. Which she was going to do herself but she’d asked me to be on standby with a shovel in case we’re under a foot of snow. She was convinced that if the weather thinks she’s driving, it'll snow. Well we’re under about a few millimetres of the stuff, so I drag my hangover out of bed and help out anyway. Shovel not required.

That confuses the dogs, a trip out in the car at 6.30am before their morning walk. Our resident sock destroyer is probably relieved, not that we’re speaking. He’s been struggling a lot with his paws icing up. Someone has advised us to put baby oil on them. Baby oil on his paws would freak him out probably just as much as ice and can you imagine the mess on the kitchen floor. We’d need to leave a towel and a bowl of warm soapy water by the door for after his walk, which MD would probably drink.

My mid-morning my hangover is relenting. I should be 100% by the time I get to the pub at lunchtime. Which turns out to be quite a good session. Apart from having one of the seven dwarves behind the bar. Grumpy. Food service was slow as well which meant we had to have a ninety minute lunch and a second drink. Which was horrible as I’m sure you can imagine.

None of which is particularly good preparation for squash tonight. Not that I’m particularly bothered. It is Christmas after all. My present to him will be very little resistance on the squash court and so it proves. 5-0.

That’s despite my opponent complaining of multiple injuries obtained whilst ten pin bowling... back, arm, forearm, knee... Sounds like somebody chucked a bowling ball at him.

After getting home I concoct this year’s eggnog, just to add to the forthcoming, or has it already started, Christmas alcohol fest.

(Thursday 23rd December)