I received several Christmas Day texts and emails yesterday morning, and so, around 11.30am, I decided to brave the driving rain and find a pub, the intention being to reply to them over a glass of red wine, with a log fire ablaze in the background. I didn't go far, just to one of the village pubs. I was the first customer of the day, and got a table of my choice, plus the wished-for wine and blazing fire, although I gradually worked out that it wasn't a real log fire, only a gas one. Never mind; it was a good heartwarming start to the day, and a taste of much-needed social life. As locals drifted in, I saw however that it wouldn't do to hog a table entirely on my own, and so at noon I went home, catching my next-door neighbours in. I knocked on their door to wish them a Merry Christmas, and ended up spending the next couple of hours sipping red wine, first in their home, and then in another village pub by then in full swing. A local man offered me a corner stool - very pleasantly done - and I settled down for another hour of chat and laughter with various neighbours who came in. I gladly accepted a lift home. This was my state by then:
Who's this floozy? Way too much in your face!
Ah, that's better. A slightly tanked-up woman is always better at arm's length, you know! But I wasn't incapable. Within the hour, I had my Christmas Dinner ready to put in the oven. Chicken, lamb chops, bacon, potatoes, carrots, onion, brussels sprouts (cooked separately on the hob), stuffing, and gravy to pour over it all. The perfect antidote to a little too much red wine:
That's how it went in. And I judged the cooking properly. My Christmas Dinner emerged from the oven looking very good. I soon had a blowout meal piled on my overloaded plate, and was proud of the achievement (but if you like fine dining and artistic presentation, look away now):
So different from the charred sacrifice I 'cooked' for myself three years ago, in 2009:
Anyway, I was nicely in time for Sister Wendy (reflecting on her life), then Richard Hammond (reflecting on all the James Bond cars of the last fifty years), both on BBC2, followed by Kung Fu Panda and The Incredibles on BBC3. For once, non-stop viewing for five hours on TV! Tonight's Boxing Day viewing is dire, although I will certainly give Miranda on BBC1 a look. But I can see myself resorting to one of my DVD films, blogging, or just reading.
You may be wondering why I nearly always stick to the BBC. The reason is that I can't stand the adverts on the commercial channels. They break up the continuity of programmes, irritate, insult your intelligence, and stink of a vacuous spend, spend, spend society. I do spend money all the time, but I hate being prodded into doing so by people who want to take over my free will.