Just realised that I never wished my beloved readership a Merry Christmas, so this is a quick post from my phone. The irritation of typing on a phone keypad, even one with predictive text, is such that my message of Yuletide joy will be brief. But it’s the thought that counts.


And that is pretty much all you’re gonna get. My shopping trip was entirely successful, and I returned with gifts ranging from Nelson Mandela’s autobiography to a CD of Handel arias. I felt terribly intellectual buying them, the only problem being they weren’t for me. Still, opportunity for such high quality posing was not to be missed, especially when I could look windswept and interesting in my artfully arranged scarf.

I’m now at my Grandparent’s house in Yorkshire, and there is consequently no internet access to be had. (Because it’s my grandparents house, not because Yorkshire is so backward.) This means I will be unable to respond to the countless comments bestowing seasonal joy on me and my kin. I will still receive them by email, though. Hint, hint…

P.S. Did you appreciate the alliteration in the title, Dan? Cooked that baby up specially for you.