and we don't have a delightful fire. But flu has made me appreciate the innings of the lovely East End flat. Sometimes I look out the window and the Victorian architecture staring back at me says it's still 1886. I like that.
Staying in and card-making. Candles and home made soups. Now I'm happy.
I always insist Christmas has no meaning to me. Consumerist, wasteful, stressful, full of false expectation (all that dreadful advertising). But being seasonal is something I'm truly embracing. The wind-down, domesticity, being cosy, festivities, any excuse for mulled wine (Yes I honestly like it. Lots).
PS. Listening to Nat King Cole. Now you can write me off.
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