Grandma and Grammar

The Yoga Mama came down today. We got ourselves pretty well organised, including going to the dump with yesterday’s mountain of cardboard. Picked up a cheap bedside table in a second hand shop and had a robust discussion with the guy behind the counter about which part of the country was culturally pre-eminent (he hailed from Lancashire). By the time we had finished it was clear that Brexit was nothing compared to regional rivalries within the disunited kingdom.

The Dizzle presented The Yoga Mama with a late Christmas present which had cannibalistic overtones. Then we had hummus and olives and toasted focaccia whilst the young ones went out looking for the elusive Greggs vegan sausage roll. They came back empty handed; the plant based product that the odious Piers Morgan claims nobody wants is sold out everywhere. Twitter was rife with strange comments from right wing reactionaries everywhere about this topic; one even claimed that the vegan sausage roll denied men the chance to be men and was "an insult to our boys fighting overseas". Work that one out if you can.

We binge ate pistachios and played a very long and noisy game of Jask in the afternoon, with many good natured arguments about the validity of certain answers. Challenged to list deities and mythological figures beginning with the letter R, I argued that Ronaldo should be allowed as some football fans worshipped him as a god. The court of public opinion ruled against me. The pistachio shells continued to pile up (with Mystic Em in particular showing worrying signs of addiction) until TSM emerged the eventual winner.

Plans for a home made meal were abandoned in favour of a trip to the local chippie. We were all too chilled to cook. Good call; allowed us more time to yak rather than worrying about peeling spuds. Mind you a "quick" game of kalooki after supper went on for hours and wore us all out.

Rather good day all told. But cold; might even light a log fire before the weekend is out ...