Christmas minus 9 (and counting)

I have shopped, and shopped again, and spent a day in Newcastle shopping. And shopped on-line, also repeatedly. And I have most of the gifts I need to buy - certainly, all those which need to be posted have been posted.

The overseas cards have been posted, on time. We have enough cards, and enough stamps, and have written about half the cards. The remainder can be done tomorrow morning, and posted before the last post tomorrow, which is the deadline (midday, because it falls on a Saturday).

I have made Christmas puddings: a morning of nibbling and licking and stickiness (well yes, now you mention it, a degree of sensual pleasure), then the mixture is left to stand overnight. durham_rambler gave it a stir and made a wish, and I stirred it too but couldn't summon up a wish, and then the big basin, the middle sized basin and the small basin were set boiling and forgotten about - and rescued at the point where one had boiled dry, and the other two were about to.

Even the parties have begun. Last night we were at the annual bash for Peace and Solidarity ("When did it stop being for Peace and Socialism?", I asked. "When the anarchists came on board." Fair enough): a celebration, but one filled with thoughts of absent friends, Joe Scurfield and Keith Morris. The New Rope String Band made their debut, in which inspired clowning and good music struggled with noisy acoustics, but promise well for the future, and the Kathryn Tickell band took a couple of numbers and some frantic hand-signals to get the sound desk functioning to their satisfaction, but then made some glorious music. And more...

So I'm at the stage where things which I should enjoy, am capable of enjoying (buying presents, sending cards, what's not to like?), are a bit of a chore because they have to be done by a deadline. And resenting that fact just makes it that much harder to take pleasure in them. But the house smells of spices and cooking, and next week is beginning to fill with plans to see friends, and I'm beginning to feel that if I can just keep my head above water, it could all be quite fun.

And I haven't mentioned the lights: there is a roundabout as you enter Durham city on which a group of reindeer, made of what look like whitewashed twigs, are grazing. No doubt they are plastic really, and by daylight they look pretty silly - but at night they are a constellations of small blue-white lights, and I'm amazed to find myself liking them. Yes, the Christmas spirit must really be getting to me!