My kind of Santa

Never mind the Coca Cola corporate greed fake red hijacked Santa, nor even the traditional pagan green version, this guy is a kind of in-yer-face Liberace bling, big beard and flowing gold robes variety. Showbiz Claus is coming to town ...

Day Seven of Ten. At midnight on Tuesday I shall be running down the street in my pyjamas shouting "I'm free, I'm free" and dashing into the police station asking if they can lend me a blanket 'cos suddenly liberty is over-rated from the personal comfort perspective. Until then it is more of the same, although the latest news is that all three of us now have covid which at least means we're in one big plague house all together. The DIzzle came in to tell us that his PCR test was positive so we had a hug and I said "I've missed you" and then we started arguing and TSM told us to behave and it was business as usual. As a slightly famous man once said

Strange times do gift us masks that we can wear
So that our inner selves and souls we do not bare

Big Sis rang. It was good to talk for forty six minutes and seventeen seconds. Been a while. We remembered our mother who was without doubt the most generous and caring person who ever lived and who died five and a half years ago, and talked about various family members and the meaning of life. Pretty standard fare.

Feels like a long winter already.