Wet, wet, wet. Wet. Wet. Wet. Mud, mud, mud, mud. We’ve had so much rain – the fields can’t take any more. When we tromp across the fields on our daily constitutionals with Miss Daisy the ground squelches, like a heavily saturated sponge. Squelch, squelch, squelch. Is this what we have to look forward to as the climate continues to change? Hot, dry summers and wet, wet, winters with fewer and fewer freezing days and lots of mud? Hmm, I think we better phase out those fossil fuels, guys.
Not much going on this week, it seems, or at least as far as I am concerned. Penny had her final reading session of the term on Thursday with her student-readers in Banbury. Seems it’s gone very well this term and her readers seem to enjoy working with her. They have all made improvements over the term, she says, especially in reading with expression and enthusiasm. She’ll start up again in the New Year.
We enjoyed another Moreton Pinkney film night on Thursday with our usual lovely neighbours. The film this time was The Man Who Invented Christmas, a fantasy about how Dickens came to be inspired to write A Christmas Carol. I have to confess, I thought it was dreadful but most everyone else seems to have enjoyed it. I guess that just helps to prove that I am a bit of a Scrooge when it comes to Christmas. As always, though, it doesn’t really matter what the film is nor how good or poor it might be, the fish and chips supper is always good and the opportunity to socialise with our lovely neighbours always guarantees a pleasant evening.
Friday morning I messed up. Our bin men come on a Friday morning to collect the rubbish. Every year, on one of the collection days just prior to Christmas, it’s agreed that those in the village who wish to do so should attach a card and gratuity for the two teams of bin men and for our lovely post lady. Knowing that this Friday was the day that had been agreed upon, I very carefully managed my money at the Film Night to ensure I had a couple of notes to slip into a couple of envelopes to show our appreciation for all their hard work. I found a couple of spare Christmas cards, wrote a short note in each thanking them for all they’ve done for us over the year, inserted a ten-pound note in each and taped one to our blue bin and the other to the green bin. When Penny returned from her and Daisy’s morning walk a bit later, I proudly told her that I had remembered and had sorted out the cards and a tip for each of the bin crews. However, I said, I didn’t have any notes left for Christine the post lady. Never mind, we will see her several more times before Christmas and we’ll make sure we get some money to give her. “So, what’s this money on the side here?” Penny asked.
Oh crap! I had managed to leave money out of one of the cards but, of course, had no idea which one. I looked out to see if the bin men had already been. They had. So now, one of the teams undoubted thinks we’re proper bastards who are so f**king mean to not even acknowledge their work with a proper gratuity. And, I compounded the error by giving them a card which thanked them for all their hard work with no money enclosed! Even worse – one of the teams received a tip while the other didn’t! My reputation as Scrooge is secure.
Penelope and I were in town the other day scouring the shops for suitable trinkets to share with friends and family over the holiday period. One of our more productive venues is generally our favourite (and only?) Banbury book store, Waterstones. Whilst perusing the shelves I spotted the following.
I can assure you – this is a completely unauthorised biography.
Finally, I ran across an article in the Guardian with a collection of vintage Christmas cards, some of which are truly bizarre. I think I’m going to have the following printed up for our Christmas greetings next year.
Whatever else, it certainly sums up the spirit of Christmas for me.
Meanwhile, keep happy, keep smiling, keep exercising, be good, be careful, and keep safe. And be gentle to wasps and bees.
Lots of love to you all,
Greg