It’s not a phrase you hear often in these parts. But I thought we’d got away with it the other night. There was a wee gathering, festive lights to switch on.
For outside the school there now stands a little Christmas tree, and it has tinsel and lights, run off a little solar panel, storing energy until it gets dark when, like magic, on they come.
To mark the occasion the community council sent out invites and waifs and strays gathered. In the dark Urchins rampaged around the playground, selection boxes from the man in the red suit handed over to adult care, for the most part. Santa had been given a grotto, and a chair. It was a horse trailer, spotlessly clean and absent any kicks and other evidence of use for its intended purpose.
Outside there was lingering, and hot soup, mulled wine too. The trays of sausage rolls and mince pies seemed endless. Now that’s what I call being Out for Dinner.
But it’s not good enough it seems, for this weekend we’re off to Pollok House, for a proper dinner. The house sits in one of my favourite parks. It has over 350 acres of greenery and woodland in the heart of the city, with hielan’ coos and Clydesdale horses. And it’s home to the Burrell Collection. Even the bikes might get an outing, but perhaps not after a heavy meal.
We might just make a day of it this Sunday, and it costs not a single penny. For The Genealogist won a competition, Christmas Dinner for five, free. So it’s a rare occasion, all out together, and not just for sausage rolls. And no grumpy old man totting up the prices. Can’t guarantee party hats though. Humbug.