Abomba*

Lovely to go visiting, but it’s wonderful to be home again.  There is no bed like your own bed, and no place like home for fully embracing ‘Dolce far Niente’; the pleasure of doing nothing.  Obviously, was not doing nothing.  Was busy sleeping until 10am, deciding to empty the suitcase tomorrow, burning two days’ worth of advent candle, which took half a day to burn down one date number, realised it was the third, not the second, burned the advent candle down to just above the number four.  Will I end up on The Naughty List if I burn down too far on the advent candle? Will the advent-candle police come to the front door to ensure that I far absolutely Niente until the days of Christmas have caught up?  Frankly, it’s not worth the risk.  Too Kafkaesque, am freaking myself out.  Candle-burning’s a good measure for post-breakfast reading time.   Had sausages with fig and honey bread (St Andrews made me louche). 

Finally, had to find days one to three on the Ferrero homemade advent calendar.  A box of 24 Ferrero’s, some stickers numbered 1-24, and Bob’s your uncle, (unless he identifies as your aunt).  Had made a couple of advent calendars to take visiting, and wouldn’t have made one for home but on the way back, the chocolates were reduced to a fiver in Sainsbury’s.  Who am I to argue with festive toffery-crispery?

My Christmas boots arrived and fit like Cinderella’s glass slippers.  They are very expensive ankle-boots, made in the UK, by elves, somewhere in Englandshire.  They are obviously millionaire elves at these prices, but my walking boots let in water and I can’t be bothered with all the lace threading, hooking and tying anymore.  These millionaire boots are pull-ons, with pull-on tags and non-slip soles.  Thankyou Santa.

Credit:  *https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_market,_to_market