And another two weeks slip quietly by. Angie has been back in the UK for her Dad's birthday since the 6th. She gets back on Thursday, with Lucy and William, who are staying for a couple of weeks over Christmas and the New Year festivities. In common with the rest of the world, I have been busy, busy, busy buying Christmas and installing it. Trees, lights, several million pressies and a fridge groaning with the strain of unfeasible quantities of festive grub are all now on board the floating chalet. I just have to spend tomorrow polishing the cobwebs, making the dust sparkle and the bogs smell sweet, and tidying the place to within an inch of its character and THEN I will be ready for the tearful reunion.

I was at a performance of 'A Christmas Carol' at the theatre in Morrisburgh a week last Saturday. Now then, I am a grizzled old bloke of 51 years and the performance was about adequate ( I had serious reservations about the actor that gurned his way through Bob Cratchit, and then did the same thing to the Ghost of Christmas Present. Played them both for laughs. Highly questionable interpretation. And Tiny Tim looked really healthy and well-fed for a poor, undernourished crip); so tell me why I spent most of the performance in tears. Couldn't help it, they just  welled up to keep the lumpy throat and runny nose company and that was me for the whole show. I have the same problem at La Boheme. Maybe I'm just getting old.

And why is it that, in times like that, the only tissue you can find in your dozen or so pockets (all stuffed rigid with old receipts, orange peel and fluff) is a thing you've used so many times it is the size and texture of a felt bus ticket - and which peels open with difficulty to become a doilly. Absorbtion is impossible - the snot just goes through the holes. Thank goodness it was dark in the auditorium.

Anyway...

Before she left, Angie discovered 'Winekits' - a magic shop where you put in an order for a batch of wine or beer and then they brew the stuff on the premises. Then you go back and bottle it when it's ready and voila! 30 bottles of cheap plonk or 48 litres of some ferociously alcoholic liquid the colour and texture of beer. Angie started a batch of both, but the bottling fell to me because it had to be done last Thursday (while she was away - as those of you who are following the narrative will have worked out. Well done, those people. Everyone else - PAY ATTENTION!). It was a bit of a shock when the chap in the shop said, "Have you got room in your fridge for all this beer?" Apparently, it has to be refrigerated or it goes bad. 48 litres. Completely filled the fridge. Couldn't even leave it out on the deck, because we've been having a warm snap. Luckily, it tried to snow today so I've risked shoving the beer outside - I need the room in the fridge now for all that Christmas face filler.

I will not dwell on the fact that I ran out of petrol on the way to the bottling. It is too painful, and I don't want to bring on more tears.

Tuesday 4th December 2006

Is it really so long since I was here. My apologies. So, what can I tell you? The race for the leadership of the Canadian Liberals was interesting, and the eventual winner was a complete surprise to almost everyone: Stephane Dion (with an acute accent on the 'e' that I don't have on my keyboard. Sorry about that - no disrespect intended on this occasion). Then the England cricket team got a last minute hammering at the hands of the bloody Australians. That was just a nightmare - a return to the bad old days of England batting collapses and crowing Aussies. I couldn't bear to see the photos of the jubilant Shane Warne et al. Just horrible!

And yet... I save my big rant for something completely different, and it's this:

First of all, I LIKE the local 'Dollar Shop'. I like the ladies that run it, I like what it sells (all the stuff you forget at the supermarket and then need urgently like bin liners and light bulbs). I was in there a couple of days ago on an errand for Angie, who desperately needed an orange ink pad so she could rubber stamp some spots onto some bright yellow paper; she does that sort of thing. So I'm quietly perusing the ink pads, and the piped music gets to 'Silent Night'. I had no IDEA that it was possible to balls up a perfectly good carol to quite that extent! Jesus, it was horrible! Over ornamented in the modern 'Gospel' style, which was smelly enough, but what REALLY got up my nose was that habit of the taste-and-subtlety-challenged singer of groaning their way into a note in some deluded hope that it will indicate an extra dollop of depth or 'soul'. Dear God, it is revolting. Please, please please stop bloody DOING it! You hear it all over the place - you have a listen next time you're in a shop. And this was 'Silent Night', for goodness' sake. Silent Night! All is calm, all is bright. Nothing there about launching into hysteric bouts of vocal gymnastics. Nothing that suggests a soulful graunch of the voice to demonstrate your inner turmoil might be appropriate. Where's the sodding STILLNESS?

There! That's got THAT off my chest. I should, in fairness,  say that there was probably a very good voice under all the vocal fireworks, but it's a bit like listening to Mario Lanza - a triumph of flashiness over taste that just has you reaching for a sick bag.

Thursday 30th November 2006

I have been admonished by my daughter. It is NOT, apparently, a badge for throttling things. Oh, no! It is a badge for CREATIVE CRAFT. How could I have been so stupid? Well, that's what she says, but look - just have a look at this badge.

Be fair, now. Does that look like a badge for creative craft? Or for strangling raccoons (or your fellow Girl Guides)?

I rest my case.

Monday 27th November 2006

Well, what can I tell you? I've spent today cobbling together this apology for a website. I suspect I was so worried about not boring you lot out there with long download times that I may have undercooked some of the files a bit. Some of them look awfully clunky and quite a bit smaller than they needed to be. It shall have my attention, I promise (although it might be a few days before I get around to it because I am so behind with my work. You wouldn't believe me if I told you!)

And now I must leap off to Girl Guides with Hattie, who is being enrolled today. I wonder how it will go...

**********

10:30pm now, and I'm back from the enrollment ceremony. Hats looked very nice in her Guides clobber, and everyone seemed to get badges and pins for one thing or another. Even Hattie, who's been in the Guides for about two months. I can't believe the number of badges available to the Girl Guide movement. They all had a sort of sleepover at the weekend, during which they got facials, manicures and some even got pedicures. They got a badge for that! Feeling good about yourself or something badge. I was leafing through the Guides' Handbook earlier - there seems to be a badge for throttling things. I'm not sure what, though. Raccoons, perhaps; they're none too popular hereabouts. We quite like them. We have a few living underneath us, on the platform that our home floats on. They growl a lot in the evenings and scrabble around like they're digging through the floorboards, but they haven't got through yet and it's nice to have them there. Our landlord, on the other hand, makes dark muttering sounds. He's not a happy bunny. They do damage, apparently. But we're just soft English incomers, and raccoons look cuddly so what can I say?