In the same creeping fashion as a sore throat announces the invasion of a cold . . . that time is almost upon us.
Not that I'm a miserable nightshirt-wearing old git, well not most of the time, but REALLY.
I used to revel in the warm comfort of the thought that Chrimbo did not start in this part of the world until December.
Festive ads have started edging their way in amongst the yogurt, cheese and insurance varieties; Jardifort (local garden centre) has joined the madness of non plant, glittery twaddle, and even the dog-washing shop has a window display of festive-phrase dog outfits . . .
I was trapped in leclerc earlier - while trying to buy some A4 paper - in the massive queues (panic buying to last out the bank holiday?) and was interested to note that someone next to me was indeed buying chocolate Santa figurines. Is it me, or does it seem odd to be doing this when we are not even half way through November?
Anyway must be off to look up some xmas pud recipes that we were discussing this morning . . .
. . . to be merry, tra la la la la la la
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