Good was it?

I managed to survive the festivities, despite  – ach you don’t want to hear about all the woes.

But you might like to know that I celebrated with a couple of fine additions to the library; apt ones too I thought.

The City of Abraham comes from Edward Platt.  He promises a run through the history, myth and memory that is a journey through Hebron.  This is the city where Abraham – from whom all Christians, Jews and Muslims apparently claim descendancy – was understood to have lived when he first arrived in the Promised Land.  Today though it is one of the most divided cities in the world, where Israelis and Palestinians live together apart.

And to follow that I’ve got A Labyrinth of KingdomsSteve Kemper tells us of a journey, a century and a half ago; one that lasted 10,000 miles, through Islamic Africa.  There’s a whole world out there to explore.

I’ll be sure to tell you about both in due course.  But I’m not the only one to be spoiled completely, austerity seeming forgotten.  Nothing, it seems, can hold a candle to any addition to the Skylander army.

And remember Little Missy and her party frock?  Well it seems we’ve not completely left the Princess Fantasy just yet.  The dilemma yesterday was whether to be Pimpernel or Merida.  In the end it was fairy frocks for the afternoon fun, whilst in the evening Brave took over, thankfully missing the bow & arrow, and the Rebecca Brooks wig – so far.

The chickens and the stray cat are feasting on scraps and leftovers – they know nothing of austerity either.  And there is a promise of some me-time for the Old Grasshopper, for the rest are heading to the northern wastes and more largesse and partying, flooding and landslips permitting.  But I need to find a way to fit in footie at Rob Roy and get from there to sunny Drongan, just to look at Tractor Jim’s new car you understand, nothing at all to do with whisky tasting.

On which subject the Penderyn has sadly come to an end, just as Jim Perrin begins his tramp round Wales with The Flea.  Thankfully the Coatbridge Wench didn’t bring with her the drink of choice for that parish, not even in statutory brown paper wrapping.  Those Benedictine Monks have a lot to answer for; still the minimum unit pricing battle moves a step forward today.

Meantime, it’s back to the 70s, and Subbuteo on the kitchen table; mince pies at half time.


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Filed under On the Bedside Table, Urchins & Joys

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