Mylne's Court

The sun doth surely shine on the Dower House and its occupants today.

No cross word or even a wee sweary word has crossed any lips.
A synchronous visit to the land of weights and machines without any glowers and an unhurried mellow coffee, followed by a time for lone pursuits, he to the museum and I to the cupboard with the vacuum cleaner, have produced nothing but smiles, bonhomie, clean floors and this blip.

Would that it were always so congenial. I think the Christmas spirit has invaded the house and our visit to Glasgow yesterday has done us a world of good. Granddaughter Nina is such a tonic, having lifted his Lordship's spirits because she reminds him of his daughter when that age, and mine because she has managed to charm him like no other.

Even the queue at the bank with only one teller on duty intent on persuading the student in front of me to take out a new account thereby increasing the wait time, and the arrival of a Christmas card from the one family of neighbours at the old castle that we hadn't sent a card to.
I know I shouldn't, but I will: I'll send them a card. It's not so late that it will look obvious I hope.

Tonight I have my book group meeting.
The book is 'Alone in Berlin' by Hans Fallada.

It's hardly a book for reading in the season of goodwill to all men, dealing as it does with a subversive carpenter in Berlin intent on protesting against Hitler and the Nazi rule by dropping anonymous defamatory postcards around the city, an act leading to his execution and death of other family members.
Hardly the Christmas Carol then.