Monday 26th December 2016

Life is always better after ten hours sleep. And Boxing Day was no exception.

We had gone to bed at nine, on what must have been the mildest December night on record; something like not getting under 12 degrees, and it felt very much like that.

We had switched the heating and water off so we could sleep through, and not woken by the boiler firing up. The cats even gave up trying to wake us up and had gone back to sleep.

But just after eight, we stirred. Oh now its breakfast time the cats thought. Yes, it was. And what better for breakfast that cold sausage rolls? Nothing, other than pizza, obvs.

So, outside it was a clear and bright morning. I mean not a cloud in the sky bright, and so we thought it best not to waste it by sitting indoors, although that was tempting I have to say.

The port opened at six in the morning, but there was little traffic around, and the roadworks along Townwall Street are all but done with two lanes open in each direction now; so no hold ups.

Down on the Hoe, there was little wind, and in the sunshine felt warm enough to walk without coats, but we took them anyway.

Out from the car park, along the winding park over the slacks, sheep scattering in all directions, lest I capture them with the camera, and they end up on Crimewatch.

Sheep are not by nature, bad, but they are followers so easily lead astray.

I meander along, snapping, meaning Jools has to wait for me on occasion, meaning she gets in the shots too.

I did come down to look for flowering plants, as through Twitter I had seen pictures from Wales of Coltsfoot in flower. No such luck down on The Hoe. Mostly it was too muddy beside the path, but with a couple of kestrels hunting overhead, and the bushes full of birds, there was plenty to look at as we walked back to the car.

THe car park was filling up, so just as well we were leaving. In fact we were going to the old folks place in Whitfield, to see how they had got on over Christmas without anyone else calling round or joining in for dinner. Each Tony's three children had other things on, or made excuses, and so it was just him, Jen and her Mum. Who is 96, deaf and slightly odd. The eccentric side of mad. And a little over four and a half foot tall. But that is beside the point.

We raided the chocolate bowls, all Roses and Quality Street, then sat down and heard the news, and stayed until the roll up smoke got too much, and we made our excuses and returned home.

A coffee and a generous slice of Christmas cake, and we settle down to watch something on TV, then listen to the football on the radio. Or I do anyway.

City lose yet again. And have a player sent off for handball. Again. And like many others, we are beginning not to care, really.

I warm up some sliced turkey, boil some vegetables and warm some gravy through. And in an hour we have another fine Christmas dinner, almost as good as the night before.

With the clear skies came a massive drop in temperatures, so we put the heating up a few notches, and settle on the sofa for yet more festive TV.