The Phoney Christmas

Snow is still lying, which I suppose is an authentic sign of Christmas: it's not so much that more is falling, as that it's cold enough that what has already fallen doesn't clear. The forecast threatens terrible things, but today was bright and sunny, and we still hope to get away to London tomorrow.

So I should be busy packing. And I have counted out my underwear (and will not run out, which is good, and have washed more for when we return, and must hang it out to dry). Must make decisions about which jumpers to pack (the ones that have been washed and are dry, which are not necessarily my first choice).

[On my radio, Maggie O'Farrell is reading Snow by Louis Macneice.]

mrissa reminds me that it is time to make lussekatter. There was neither enough time nor enough milk to do that, but today's loaf (currently doing its final rise) has a festive touch, a proportion of chestnut flour and a handful of sour cherries (I thought I had some dried cranberries, but can't find them; cherries will be good, too).

To date, we have received six Christmas cards, two of them hand-delivered. Surely this is fewer (or maybe later, or maybe both) than in previous years?

durham_rambler has at last sent off his very important document, and left his desk. Time for some more packing, then...