Twelfth Night

Or, perhaps more accurately, the Twelfth Day of Christmas. No drummers drumming arrived at my door today, thankfully, but that just completes a series when neither leaping lords or milkmaids, nor any assortment of birdlife were left by Yodel on my doorstep or delivered to the wrong address by Hermes in the past eleven days.

Instead, the decorations were taken down for another year; the cards were removed, reread and consigned to the recycling bin, and a trip made to the shops to restock cupboards and fridge with 'normal' rather than party food.

Back to auld claes and porridge, and I, for one, am not complaining.