Tuesday 25th December 2018

Christmas Day.

Christmas Day being on a Tuesday meant there was, for most of us, a full weekend and Monday before the actual day itself, rather than going from work, work, Christmas in a usual year.

So, it was Christmas, we were rested, and were going to spend most of the day in Whitfield at Jen's.

Having been so full with sausage rolls and mince pies from the last night, we only had fruit for breakfast, meaning that come two in the afternoon when we were planning to eat, we would be hungry.

And then some.

We had coffee whilst watching the bright dawn spread from the east, making the sky glow bright orange and red, for a while. Clouds cleared and it was a glorious morning, no hope of a white Christmas, though.

I stand att eh kitchen sink looking in the garden at the multitude of birds we had visiting, when a dark shape swooped down along the garden, turned over next doors fence and disappeared from view. It was a sparrowhawk. I quickly dashed upstairs hoping to see it feating on some poor brd, but there was no sign. No sign of other birds either, as they had squarked warnings and they had all fled.

At nine we loaded the car with stuff for the day, but on the way to Jen's, I decide to go down Jubilee Way to look at the ferries moored up. Christmas Day is one of only two days when there are no services, so interesting to see most berths occupied, and two freight ferries moored on the Western Arm too.

Why don't you go and take shots from the National Trust place?

Good idea.

But first we go to Whitfield to get the turkey ready and put it in the oven, it needed 4 hours to cook, so had to be done by half one.

That done, Jools and Sylv said they would prepare the veg, leaving me to go snapping.

I drive to the National Trust place up above the harbour, so I park up and walk down the slope, forgetting me and my back would have to walk back up it.

Always odd to see what is usually always so buy being empty of traffic and noise. No announcements, no cars and trucks lining up to board, just the sound of the seagulls circling above.

I manage to walk back to the car, then drive down into town and up Military Road to Western Heights the other side, so I could park at St Martin's Battery, so sanp the Western Dock and redevelopment of the Prince of Wales Pier.

Then drive back to Jen's, where walking into the house I was hit by the wall of fabulous smells of the cooking turkey, now over a quarter done.

Potatoes were boiled, I cracked open a bottle of sill strong Belgian beer, to wet my whistle as I cooked. It was ten and a half percent. And aged in whisky barrels. Good beer, but not to be drunk on an empty stomach. I was drinking it on an empty stomach, showing I learned nothing from the previous years.

At one, Mike and Jane arrived, too late for present opening before dinner, as vegetables needed to be cooked, gravy made and roast potatoes cooked in French goose fat.

It all came together, Aunt Bessie's Yorkshires were not done in time, but the rest was great.

We sat down at two to eat, toasting our good health and to remember those absent.

And my goodness, dinner was wonderful, washed down with sparing red and white wine. All good.

Afterwards we had t have sherry trifle and tiramisu, because Christmas.

We were stuffed, and by half four we needed to get back home to feed the cats and to lay down and rest.

We had the radio on, so in near darkness we lay on the sofa just resting. Lovely.

We play Uckers again in the late evening before calling it a night after supper of cheese footballs and gingerbread cookies.br />