rush job

This is going to turn into a Bad Idea. 

I do not have the time to blog today.  I have my Christmas Journal sitting all over the table which is limping along badly this year.  I keep dragging Oliver to Sainsburys to print out yet more photos on their ridiculously expensive instant kiosk machine and he keeps griping for England.

I have (almost) half a crochet cushion cover competed for a lady I want to visit before Christmas.  I have glibly stated it will be done with lots of casual waves and smiles, although Mark has already snorted heavily about this one.  My Christmas crochet blanket, at 49 squares is not going to make it to 70 and bordered before Christmas, so it has been abandoned crossly as a next-year job.

I have wrapped not one present, as I have saved it all up for tonight when Mark is absent from the house so I can team the paper frenzy with lots of wine, pizza and Moonstruck, one of, if not THE all time favourite for me.  I only watch it once a year, but boy, it does NOT feel like 12 months since the last viewing.

I have not thought about The Christmas Food shop.  I have a frozen chicken and a gammon joint which is good for the next 5 years in the fridge to be going along with, a tub of biscuits for cheese disappearing at an alarming rate and No Veg.  Will revisit this later in the week.

We have just spent the weekend travelling from Cornwall to Wales for Oliver to compete in Pokémon tournaments.  It rained and rained.  In both counties.  In fact it was probably the same bloody rain following us up the M4 out of spite.  He did pretty well, 5th in the Regional in Cornwall and 2nd in the Cities in Wales.  The whole exercise was one of point-gathering for the Worlds in Washington DC next year, so hopefully it was worth it....

We had a holiday in Egypt last month - it was all very lovely indeed - snorkelling with the fishies is out of this world, despite Oliver leaping from the water on day 2 onto the jetty yelling 'Shark! There's a Shark!' in plain view of several startled holidaymakers.  I was hissing viciously for him to shut the bugger up, particularly as I was still actually in the water at the time, but he insisted he'd seen a large grey pointy nosed fish with gills.  He refused to go in after that.  I'm not kidding.  I think it was panic clouding his vision - he'd been so sure there were going to be sharks - so there were.  We now refer to it as the 'shark'.  And we do those finger symbols in the air too. 

I expect there are shed loads of other titbits, but that's your lot for now.  Some piccies:

 

View from our rather posh whirlpool on the balcony room

Off to feed the sharks my ample buttocks.

 

 First Sunday in Advent

 

 

Regionals

Cities

C'est tout.