Counting Down To Christmas

I don't suppose it's a measurable effect- by which I mean one that would register on a decibel counter- but it always seems to me that a hush descends on the world in the days surrounding Christmas. And with the hush goes a torpor. My mother didn't want to get out of bed this morning- even though it's a sunny, crisp day- and I know how she feels.

Ailz has had a thing this past year about pork scratchings. There have been times when they were just about the only thing she'd eat. Now she's gone off them.  She handed me her last sack (we don't buy anything in small quantities) and said it was "Foxy's Christmas Dinner". I took it down to the field gate and emptied it out. Happy Christmas, fox! Happy Christmas, crows!

Noel Gallagher and his High Flying Birds have a song in the charts that's going through my head- and has been for days. The Gallagher brothers have done their time in the wilderness- as most successful entertainers do after the novelty wears off- and are suddenly- surprisingly- cool again- both of them separately- with albums in the charts and successful tours and TV appearances- and I'm enough of a herd animal to be remembering how much I once liked Oasis; Champagne Supernova, Wonderwall- what great, daft songs!