Ready or not...

This weekend just past marks the point at which I have to accept that it really is Christmas. Just one month out of the twelve, surely I can't be such a grouch as to begrudge that? Well, I can, of course: as far as I'm concerned, twelve days is the canonical Christmas period. But you can't fight all the battles, and so the weekend which included December 1st was filled with things which took on a festive flavour, whether we intended them to or not.

There was seasonal weather

The weekend started with a heavy frost and a below zero temperature (centigrade, so not dramatically cold, but colder than it has been so far) before our swim on Friday morning; and ending with snow on the ground on Monday morning.

There was shopping, some of it Chrismassy and some not

The Christmassy bit was an actual Christmas Fair, in a big marquee on Palace Green, at which I bought some small gifts and some cards, as well as such everyday necessities as wine, soap and pork pies. The not included the regular grocery shop, and an expedition to look for a new car - comprehensive failure, except the bit where we called on J. on our way home for a cup of tea (accompanied by Italian cake; if there was cake, the Christmas theme can't have been far off).

There were guests,

a rapid visit from D. and valydiarosada, not a Christmas visit but for family reasons. So late arrivals, previous commitments, early departures, all that. But we did manage lunch together - with chips! - at the Stonebridge

There was a party - not a Christmas party -

but a multi-person birthday party. Still, a party is by definition festive, and this was a good one, with plenty of interesting people to talk to (plenty meaning, or course, more than you can manage, so we left having barely greeted our host).

There was music, not in itself seasonal, though the Sage felt obliged to put on a tinsel halo and tell us about their Christmas programme, so we wouldn't feel deprived.

As if! Actually, there is something celebratory about the Martin Simpson Trio. Guitar, accordion double bass and vocal combine in the sort of big solid sound it takes eleven of Bellowhead to acheive. They give the impression of having a wonderful time playing together and their enjoyment gets out into the music. If you can't relish a good tragedy, then traditional music is not for you, but I've never heard 'Sir Patrick Spens' sound as jaunty as it did on Saturday. With the joyful Keilder Scottische that followed it, it was the high point of my evening - though the closing 'Lakes of Pontchartrain', which should have been sung by Elvis at his most rock and roll, came close.

Which is quite enough excitement for one weekend.