We laid in bed until half seven. All chores have been done, cards been sent, shopping done (even sprouts). And the milkman had delivered a week's worth of the white stuff for us.
Cats fed, coffee made.
We check on the world. It's even shit at Christmas. No, worse at Christmas, as everything should be better.
We have fruit, second cofee. And a while later I make a batch of sausage rolls.
We have those warm for lunch. At about 11.
I did say that after a shower I would prepare the steak for dinner then we would go out for a walk, as I felt like shit. Turns out after a shower I was even less inclined to go for a walk.
Jools went. I prepared the rest of dinner.At half three when Jools came back she announced she was hungry, so I got busy: put the corn on the boil, zapped the spuds then sliced them, prepped the garlic mushrooms and did another batch of roasted sprouts with bacon.
The steak was a thich slice of rump, I split it 60/40, but was still huge.We had a bottle of fizz too, to help it go down.
News is, we were both beaten, and three quarters of the sprouts went uneaten, but they could be frozen to be enjoyed another day.
We listened to a podcast while we pondered the washing up.
No football on Christmas Eve, but there was Craig's funk and soul on the wireless. We played crib, and the evening passed until it was time to watch Gone Fishing: In Norway.
Merry Christmas.
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