Shortly after putting the second card up on the bookshelf and deciding that I needed to buy some Christmas cards, the phone rang. It was George.
“Err, Mum, you busy?”
I always love to hear from my offspring but any conversation that begins by asking if I’m busy is usually followed by information that leads to my being overloaded. This one was no exception.
“I’ve had a bit of an accident. All the snow, you know. Anyway, I’ve broken my leg. It’s fine, no long-term damage, but they need to pin it. Could you or Dad come and get me from the hospital and then let me convalesce for a few days?”
The OH was concerned about taking time off work so it was my responsibility to head north. Fortunately, George gave me detailed directions because I was convinced that he was in Aberdeen somewhere but it turns out that Abertay University is in Dundee. I was lucky to check into a reasonable B&B because with all the snow, George’s convalescing was based entirely in Dundee and I have only just got back, with biscuits, cards, and everything else still to do. I did at least buy some cards in Dundee, in aid of the Scottish SPCA or something, mostly with kittens and tinsel on the front. If any of my friends are allergic to kittens in tinselly Santa hats, I apologise now.
Now that I’m back, I find that I missed the village’s Progressive Supper. This are usually extraordinarily drunken affairs, as people wander around the village in fluctuating groups attending different courses at an assortment of houses and washing every course down with more alcohol. The enjoyability of these affairs varies according to the quality of the food and whether or not you are seated next to someone with selective or actual deafness on your side. This year, Annie tells me, most people were dressed rather more sensibly than usual, with wellies instead of stilettos, but it didn’t stop one major argument at the end of the evening when one young lady, after too much alcohol, made a pass at a married gentleman who had had too much alcohol and was promptly right-hooked by the gentleman’s wife who had also had too much alcohol. You may notice a theme here. In line with Verity’s instructions, I’m not naming names but anyone who was there that night will probably know the people involved! It’s just as well that Verity wasn’t there herself, because otherwise she would doubtless tell me I couldn’t even describe the events...
In other news, the deli has asked for a hiatus on my biscuits. “Nothing personal, they’re still selling well, but while you were away, we’ve stocked up on stuffing mixes and sauces for Christmas, and there isn’t really room for your biscuits. Take some time off and come back in the New Year,” Edith told me. “Happy Christmas, by the way.”
That’ll teach me to take a break. Or George. Either way, at least I don’t need to make my way across the county for more card for my boxes just yet.