LET HIM EAT CAKE

A more rewarding day. Took G to the station early as he was going to London for lunch; cardboard turkey, rock hard Brussel sprouts, and a 15 hour round trip he envisaged.

I was in and out of the supermarket, and back home ready to make the Christmas cake before half the county had woken up. I was only interrupted twice, once by a neighbour who discovered I was at home, and once by the cat who decided to be sick , probably in retaliation for the wormer remedy I foisted onto him last night.

Once the cake was in the oven I tackled a mound of ironing, and then wrote some Christmas cards. Each year there are less to write. I have stepped over that line when relations, friends and acquaintances decline in number.

I have now finished reading my current book, given the cat his tea, try to keep it down Freddie, and spent some time trying to get an internet connection. It worked once I realised I had disconnected it on my laptop.

I am now going to read and await the return of the wanderer. He may well be hungry.