Not Officially A White Christmas

Christmas Day dawns cold but dry, so not officially a white Christmas but walking the dogs through snow covered Wollaton Park this morning it might as well be.

Presents are unwrapped, my parents arrive and then we head to the Plough for the traditional lunchtime tipple and leave the dogs guarding the goose. Sort of. Not that it’s going anywhere fast.

My attempted livening up of the pigs in blankets with sage, honey and black pepper doesn’t quite work, they taste just the same as usual but never mind, everyone seems to like them.

We are a more divided family on the Christmas pudding front. Christmas isn’t Christmas without rum sauce. Well that's my opinion. Anything else is sacrilege but Son has cream on his, L wants ice cream on hers. Some people. Daughter would probably have tomato sauce on hers if we let her but instead probably settles for a bit of everything.

(Saturday 25th December)

Horrible Premonitions

There’s another outing to work for the posh bike today, ahead of Sunday’s Flat Out in The Fens Sportive. It’s going to be a hot 70 odd miles on Sunday apparently. It’s pretty hot this morning as well.

As I’m still on for a £50 bribe from the council for using their gym every month for a year, I thought I best show willing and drop in to do my June session. As it’s now the 25th of the month, I’m running out of time.

So I pedal to John Carroll and book in for a short session. Not that I particularly want to. I do a massive 1km run on the treadmill, two small weight sessions and then sit on the bike for a while. The exercise bikes are so awful that again a km is all I can bare. I think cycling further on those uncomfortable contraptions would actually do you more harm that good.

So having passed a bit of time on the bike, I get off and go for a coffee. So, not exactly a tough session but I've had a hard week.

Today is Daughter's 17th birthday and we have bowed to concerted pressure... yep, we've let her have a small party. This is despite the horrible premonitions I’ve been having for weeks, well at least since 'that' incident... but she assures us it’s not going to be like one of Son’s bashes, which have got progressively more out of control with each one. That’s a relief. Of course if it was jelly and ice cream, pass the parcel and a Disney film like the old days it would be fine but it’s not going to be is it. Perhaps I should have faith in her or at least get drunk. Mind you that didn't work with Son's parties. With the blue touchpaper lit and the sick bucket in place, we retire to a safe distance and take the dogs down the local.

When we get home later all seems orderly, unbroken and well civilised. Perhaps Daughter has been ruling them with a rod of iron like she does us.