Saturday 27th December 2014

Boxing Day.

So named because of the fighting which breaks out at the sales.

Apparently.

Or not.

After the glorious sunshine of Christmas Day, Boxing Day was always going to be a comedown. We have our normal breakfast of fruit and cereal, before donning our walking boots for a quick stomp. Now, my back had improved some, and so I had better press it further by some more walking to make sure it stays fixed. Or pain free.



Just a short walk to the pig's copse and back, but the day is fine and wind free, although the radio is telling us that something akin to the Biblical Flood is coming in the late afternoon. So better make the best of it. We see a few folks out, wish them the glad tidings of the season. One of the pigs is out, but too busy eating the offcuts from the big day's vegetables to pay us any attention. I decide to press on and go down the dip and up the other side. My back grumbles, but we walk on, and up the other side to the cycle path, where the choice is: go back or go to the cliffs. As I have made some bread, and the dough needed beating down and putting in the oven, we decide to go home, back through the village and down Station Road.



The dough is about to break free, so I beat it down, make it into eight rolls, weighing each one so they are all pretty much the same side. They are a slightly pale red colour. This is due to the cayanne pepper I added. Couldn't hurt, could it?



Nah.

So at half twelve, the rolls come out of the oven. After cooling for ten minutes, I split them, slap some butter on and fill them with salted beef. And dinner is prepared. And oh my gosh, wonderful food again. The saltiness of the beef, mixing with the spiciness of the rolls, zinging on the tongue. Lovely.



And Boxing Day means football. OK, take me to the sofa, where I snooze through the first game, but at three City kick off against Millwall, and put them to the sword, 6-1. Yay.



Alas, the sniffing and sneezing I have had since getting up erupts into a full blown allergy attack, which calls for drugs, and lots of them. I feel shot, and on Saturday we hope to head to Suffolk to visit Mother dearest. I am just able to eat Christmas Dinner #2, made with some of the left overs from yesterday. It is good I have to say, and even have an extra Yorkshire to mop up some of the extra gravy.

All there is to do is go to bed, having taken more drugs and hope that I could get some sleep.