Having had a Cornish boss until recently, we used to get a Christmas lunch of a pasty. Very nice, extremely peppery and handmade (usually) by the boss’s wife. A lot of work.
Rather strange for a Christmas lunch you would think. And this year I will miss out. I don’t mind too much. There’s an absence of santa enthusiasm in my wiring somewhere.
But I’m learning to appreciate proper advent waiting a little. Christmas is good news to the poor:
and the characters in the tale are poor, soon to be homeless refugees. Hard to ignore the images of the dispossesssed, and daily I walk past the rough sleepers without too much twinge of conscience. After all, I’m not wealthy and they’re complicated!
Hard times, visting choirs that scare the lights out of some night shift workers, I guess we’d blame the paranormal, put it down to lack of sleep and hallucinations. Mercifully these men walked and obeyed, giving us so much more than cute sheep to add to the crib.
And the gifts brought by another selected tranche of visitors are a little more dangerous in their implications than another pack of socks. Royalty, a horrific death and sacrifice aren’t really out there in the adverts at present. I am not too good at secular Christmas especially this year but I am looking forward to celebrating the birth of King Jesus.
And chocolate log, fancy cheese and non alcoholic stout (always the driver!)