Monday 23rd December 2019

Christmas Eve Eve.

As it were.

And the bad weather of the past few days was due to break, with warm sunny periods forecast. I say warm, ten degrees which passes for warm in Festive Week.

And I had the idea of going somewhere high to take in the morning warming sunshine. There was two choices: either the cliffs or on the downs. I chose the down.

But, when dawn came, it was cloudy. Oh noes.

So, the plan to go up on the downs was put off for an hour or so. But the clouds did clear, so we went out just after nine, driving past Tesco with its overflowing car park, down Whitfield Hill and into Temple Ewell, parking behind the old George and Dragon.

We put in our walking boots, I grabbed my camera, and we set off up the wooded path up the down. The trees are now naked, and the meadows have been roughly chopped back to preserve the habitat, least it revert to scrub and then woodland. It looks brutal, but it is needed. Next spring, fresh growth will bring the life back, butterflies, bees and birds.

But for now, there was just Jools and myself, taking the air.

We reach the top of the path, then at the kissing gate, the vista opened out, and eyes eyes were overwhelmed with the warm and golden sunshine to the south.

Good morning!

My back was having a right grumble, so Jools presses on the the top of the down, and I walk up in my own time, taking time to sit on a tussock of grass to take the scene in.

As before, there was no one about, just us. Though down below, a farmer and his labourer are driving new fence posts in, breaking the silence. A train rattles into Kearsney station, just out of sight.

Jools joins me and we just sit and soak up the sunshine.

We turn for home, walking back down the down to the wooded path, then down and down to the car park below. We change into our shoes, as we were to visit our friends Gary and Julie on the way back, to drop in their card and wish them a Merry Christmas, though with the sun in a clear blue sky, and warm enough (just) not to have a coat on, it feels like October rather than Christmas.

We leave for home at midday, and once back home break out the cheese and crackers. And wine. Because it is the law that every meal has at least one cheese course. Even a meal consisting of nothing but cheese.

Cheese.

Just one more cracker.

OK, just this last one.

And then for the main event of the afternoon, sorting out Nana and Granddad's photographs.

With the radio on.

Nan has several piles of photos, many of her as a young woman with the fashions of the day, posing in the back yard of her parent's house on Clapham Road or in a studio. And then there are the shots of her and Granddad in matching (almost) beachwear. Granddad was a fine young man, and that before he joined the guards. They made a handsome couple. Such a shame that Nana had a black heart then, and she would make Ganddad's life a misery. But he loved her so, even still. Even when her sharp tongue made him cry.

Families, huh?

Dinner is steak, a whole slice of sirloin, cut in half, and prepared the Delia way. Potatoes bpoiled, then fried. Steak griddled, corn boiled and wine opened.

And it is fabulous. Even if I say so myself. Again.

We toast ourselves and wish each other a Merry Christmas, then tuck into rare and succulent steak.

The evening was spent with Lyra Silvertongue once again, traveling the frozen north, where we will follow in her footsteps next year.

More of that another time!

Anyway, to bed and to dream, to dream of sheep.