Losing the Star …and the Plot!

I was down in Princes Street this morning when curiosity got the better of me and I went into the part of the Christmas market outside the Art Galleries. It was quite quiet because it had just opened at 10am, but already there was cooking going on. That greasy smell of hot fat coming from the stalls lodged in my nasal passages and I could still smell it hours after I got home.

It was a beautifully sunny day but bitterly cold even if my forecasts did say it felt like 5°. That must have been in the sunshine.

I made a very small start on wrapping the few Christmas presents on offer this year and remembered yet again that it is not one of my fortes. In fact I dread it with a passion. Sellotape and I are at war with each other. I seem to have misplaced the dispenser so it is a 50/50 chance whether the sellotape makes it on to the parcel or wraps itself round my finger instead.

Perhaps the analogy with present wrapping could be a job like ironing which some people loathe and other people like. I like ironing. Perhaps I could swap tasks with someone- parcel wrapping for shirt ironing .
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