Merry Christmas

 

Merry Christmas

and  a

Healthy

and Peaceful

2026

‘See’ you all after Christmas!

Foxes

 

Foxes

Red fox (Vulpes vulpes)
Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Those elegant, red-coated denizens of the dark, now often observed in daylight hours, are loved by many and abhorred by many more. I am of the admiring cohort, but I’m not a countrywoman or a farmer, and have no livestock to protect and worry about.

Whenever I see Reynard or his wife (what is her name? Renarda, Renardine, or Renarde!) trotting daintily through a hedge or leaping gracefully over a wall, my heart lifts, and, for an instant, I feel I am a part of Nature. These dog-like animals with their feline poise puncture our night-times with their eery screams and sharp barks, and chill our souls with their sobbing cries.

I’m sure foxes have a sense of humour. Why else would they steal single trainers from the doorsteps of houses and drop them outside someone else’s door? They also take other things that have been left out of doors, like feeding bowls, or toys from a toddler’s buggy. The truth is probably that, as scavengers, they are programmed to pick up anything they find, in case it is edible or might make suitable bedding in their den.

They may even leave a thank you in the form of scat. Believe that if you like, but the droppings are actually to mark their territory. If you have a problem with foxes stealing your running shoes, or wellingtons, or children’s toys, or walking sticks, there is a simple solution – don’t leave outside anything that you value.

Red  fox cubs

 Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

The trifle

 

The trifle

Taking turns. Look at Roxy's tongue! It looks as though it has a life of its own.

It seems to be developing into a tradition, which is surprising to me, as gastronomic traditions usually pass me by. Actually, my carbonara used to go down well with my eldest grandchildren when they came to stay, but generally my offerings are not memorable.

Anyway. Trifle. It is certainly not a thing of small value and I’m not sure what is the actual attraction of it, but then I’ve never really liked trifle very much. I like the individual ingredients, but not the aggregation of them.

The latest offering was declared ‘the best ever.’ I just wish I could remember what changes I made. The base was Madeira cake, when I usually use sponge fingers, or crumbled digestive or ginger biscuits, so that was one difference.

Orange jelly with fresh raspberries came next. Once that had set, I added strawberry jelly and when it was firm enough, fresh blueberries.

Next came the custard – I remembered to make sure I had some in the cupboard this time, after the custardless one of a few months ago.

On top came the whipped cream, made from whippable oat milk. Barry took over the task of whipping and what didn’t end up on his jumper or the kitchen counter or the dogs’ heads gilded the custard. The final garnish was halved fresh strawberries.

It did look quite presentable and was surprisingly heavy as I nervously carried it into the dining room. I always half-expect to drop it. Maybe that’s not a bad thing, for then I concentrate on completing one task a time.

I shall make another trifle for Christmas Day, but of reduced proportions for a smaller number of people.

As ever, the dogs were in constant attendance, hoping for treats. In reward for their patience and forbearance they were allowed to lick the spoon. They would have preferred a dish each.

Herschel

 

                                                                                                                            Herschel

Herschel soaks up the warmth.

Does my life revolve around animals? Yes, four-legged and two-legged. On Monday last week, it was Herschel’s turn to spend a day with the vets. He arrived at 8:45 and had four teeth extracted. By half past three in the afternoon he was home again, and very pleased to be in his normal surroundings. He rubbed all round the dogs, purring loudly. We were told that he had been a very good boy and let the veterinary staff do all they had to do without fuss.

Two days later he was due to have a routine check to make sure everything was healing properly, but in the morning he was not very interested in his breakfast and was only persuaded to eat it with the addition of some chicken broth. He licked up the liquid very readily, but still left the meat, so his appointment was brought forward. The vet could find nothing wrong but felt he must be in pain, so prescribed some pain-killers for him. She gave him one before he came home and he was a very happy boy. We thought he might be a bit high on the drug as he was charging around the house, and we wondered if he would ever settle down to sleep that night.

The prescription was for a minute amount of liquid to be squirted into his throat, where it would be absorbed through the mucous membrane. Cats don’t take kindly to having things sprayed anywhere near them, let alone into their mouths. To add insult to the process, the medicine obviously tasted foul. Even worse was the fact that it had to be administered three times a day.

Herschel is a very forgiving cat. He struggles to get away when he senses what is about to happen. but never scratches or bites. A quick scruffing and the job is soon done, the pain is alleviated and peace is restored. He is now eating normally again. Long may it last!

Yesterday, when Charlie (9) and Jack (6) were with us for the day, both Herschel and Jellicoe received an extraordinary amount of attention. To Charlie’s delight, Herschel went to sleep on his lap and remained there for a long time. This served a double purpose. Sleep is good for healing and recovery, and Charlie was where we could see him and not able to slope off to nick more trifle!

Busy

 

Busy

We have had a busy couple of days. On Friday, there was much excited barking from Arthur as he heard the front door open. I thought it was Barry, coming back because he’d forgotten something – he’d just left to take the big dogs out.

The barking increased and eventually eldest daughter, Gillian, appeared, bearing a large box containing all sorts of comestibles. Very generous!

It was lovely to see her, and so unexpected. Much as I love seeing my grandchildren and great-grandchildren, it was very pleasant to sit and have a conversation without interruptions.

While she was here, my daughter-in-law ‘phoned and we had a chat. By that time, Barry was home again, so he and Gillian were chatting in the kitchen while he made coffee for them both.

On Saturday – today – youngest daughter, Bethan, and her family came to see us. Barry cooked a beautiful joint of beef ‘sous vide,’ and we had a lovely lunch, though I do think I overdid, or, rather, underdid the vegetables – they were more almost raw instead of the ‘al dente’ for which I was aiming.

The cats received an inordinate amount of attention, as usual, and the dogs weren’t overlooked, either. They all were given toys!

Tomorrow, middle daughter, Susannah, arrives to spend a few days with us. Arthur will turn himself inside out when he sees her and his little heart will overflow with joy.

Interesting stamps

 

Interesting stamps

 A parcel was delivered recently with some interesting stamps. I didn’t know if they were all genuine so attempted to find out.

In Britain, commemorative stamps have been issued by Royal Mail since 1924. The first one was designed and produced for the British Empire Exhibition, which ran for six months in 1924 and five months in 1925. In the following thirty years, there were occasional commemorative issues, between one and three per year, for special events of particular note, after which they became more frequent.

From the mid-1960s. between six and ten special issue sets were produced every year. At this time, official First Day Covers were introduced, along with Presentation Packs. Postcard-sized reproductions of commemorative stamps became available from mid-1970s, to be issued alongside each new set of stamps.

From the early years of the 1970s, the number of sets increased, until usually more than ten sets were produced annually. Ten years later the practice was for Royal Mail to issue ten to fifteen sets a year.

Stamps now commemorate a diverse range of subjects, encompassing history, sport, theatre, science, popular culture, to name but a few.

The stamp at the top of this post was part of a series celebrating one hundred years of cycling. It was issued in 1978. We were still using halfpennies in 1978! They were not phased out until 1984.

The stamp illustrating the Liverpool Great National Steeple Chase of 1839 was part of the Horseracing series and issued in 1979.

The Christmas stamp called ‘Shepherd and Lamb’ was issued in 1984.

The Edward Lear stamp was issued in 1988, one hundred years after his death in January 1888.

The Kestrel formed part of the 2003 Birds of Prey series. There was later a 2019 series of Birds of Prey.

I've never been a stamp; collector. As a child, I had a brief period of collecting stamps depicting animals, but the interest faded and the phase passed. 

Philately can become almost obsessional, but those who have pursued it throughout their lives have built up valuable collections. 

Arthur attempts . . .

 

Arthur attempts . . .

 to do what he’s bred for!

Walking in Simons Wood, Arthur reached the lake.

 In the middle of the lake is a small island, on which birds rest and nest. Usually, it’s Canada geese that inhabit it, but this week it was a couple of herons.

Arthur spotted them.

Arthur jumped into the water.

Arthur started to swim towards them.

Barry called him out and Arthur obeyed.

A couple of minutes later, Arthur jumped into the water again, and again was called out. This continued until Barry and Arthur had walked on and the lake and the birds were no longer in sight.

Arthur was a happy, wet dog and slept well after his exercise.

 

Jan Pieńkowski (1936-2022)

 

Jan Pieńkowski (1936-2022)

We gave this book to our youngest daughter the year she was five. Her birthday is four days after Christmas.

Jan Pieńkowski was born in Warsaw, Poland in 1936. In 1939, while sheltering in an air raid shelter during a bombing raid in the Second World War, a Polish revolutionary showed him how to make paper cut-outs.

Cut-outs can be made with scissors or knives and the technique, known in China as Jianzhi, has its roots in that country. A single sheet of paper is cut into intricate designs, like the following paper cut celebrating the Year of the Dog.

It is also used in Mexico, where it is known as Papel Picado, when tissue paper is used to make decorations for festivals like Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead)

Paper cutting was also used to create silhouettes. It was popular in the 18^th century before the advent of photography. Skilled professional practitioners could produce a silhouette in as little as six minutes. The result was sometimes called ‘the poor man’s portrait.’ The French artist, Auguste Edouart (1789-1861) made thousands of silhouettes of well-known people, including Victor Hugo and John Quincy Adams.

It is the silhouette form that was used by Pieńkowski in his illustrations for children’s books. He provided the graphics for Helen Nicoll’s ‘Meg and Mog’ series, and created pop-up books, like ‘Haunted House’ and ‘Robot.’ He was also extremely interested in stage design.

The beauty of his ‘Christmas’ illustrations is in their clarity. They illustrate the words of the Nativity, as related in the King James version of the gospels of Luke and Matthew.

'In the days of Herod the King, the angel Gabriel as sent from God . . . toa virgin . . . '

 The bright star (angel) is shown descending from the heavens.

The angel Gabriel tells Mary of her fate. I love the way she is shown as a young woman hanging out the washing.

Away in a manger . . .

The angel Gabriel tells the shepherds of the baby's birth.

The wise men from the east ask where the new king might be found. 

Herod is mightily troubled.   

The wise men bring gifts to the baby.

The wise men depart, instead of reporting to Herod.
    

'Herod, the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might in his own sight
All young children to slay.'        

The massacre of the innocents.

Mary and Joseph escape.

After Herod's death, Mary and Joseph return to Nazareth with the baby. 

Jan Pieńkowski created another masterpiece in ‘Easter.’                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

Indoor gardening

 

Indoor gardening . . .

. . . takes longer than you think!

Syce

 

Syce

This puzzle provides 26 potential words. Each word must have at least 4 letters in it, and must include the central letter, in this case 'Y'.

I work on a Polygon puzzle each morning and when I have exhausted my vocabulary, I look at the solution. Sometimes, the words are so obvious that I wonder how I’ve managed to be blind to them. At many other times, unknown words crop up and ‘syce’ is one that appeared recently.

A syce holding two carriage horses

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

It is pronounced as spelt, and is an archaic Urdu term for a groom. A syce was a servant, notably in India, during British colonial rule in the seventeenth century, whose responsibilities included feeding, grooming, and saddling horses, and driving carriages. It was in use before the advent of the car, at a time when horse transport was common.

When cars later became more available, syce developed to mean chauffeur, a driver of the ‘horseless carriage.’

Arthur and the stick

Arthur and the stick

Arthur is a very easy dog to take walking. He is not interested in other dogs or people, though he greets them politely if required.  He returns immediately he is called. He becomes very excited if balls are involved, making the woods echo with his barking, so balls do not form part of his exercise.

Arthur enjoys picking up sticks, though he is not encouraged to carry small ones, in case they should catch in his mouth or throat.  This 'stick' outfoxed him and he soon abandoned thoughts of carrying it home.

I know I did it!

 

I know I did it!

How sure we are of what we have said or done. Our conviction is unmoveable, our belief unassailable.

Recently, I packaged a couple of Advent calendars for my two youngest grandchildren and sent them to my daughter. Speaking to her a few days later, she thanked me for ‘it.’

I said, ‘There were two in the parcel, one for each of the boys.’ She said she’d go and check the package, as maybe she’d thrown one out, though that didn’t seem very likely.

I was cross, very cross. I would have stood in a court of law, under oath, and sworn I had sent her two calendars. I could visualise myself wrapping them.

A day later, Barry came out of the dining room with an Advent calendar in his hand. It had been on the table under one of his coats. (We don’t just have coat hooks and wardrobes – we have chairdrobes and tabledrobes, sofadrobes and top-of-the-dog-cratedrobes, and sometimes, floordrobes. If you have OCD, steer clear of our house!)

 I could have wept! I was upset that only one calendar had been delivered, and worried that I was losing my mind. After all, I haven’t much to occupy it these days, not like when I was working full-time, with a husband often far away on business, four children, elderly parents, and umpteen animals.

Life should be a doddle, and mostly it is, but somehow the Season of Lights and Advertisements and Pleas for Donations, combined with darker days and longer nights, make ordinary things extraordinary. Every year, I declare that Christmas will be welcomed calmly in a well-ordered house. Every year, it isn’t!

The end-of-term three-week headache is absent now, but the simplicity of ordering maybe a little more than usual develops into a marathon of wondering if x, y, and z have been accomplished. In my saner moments, I realise that the smaller details don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

 

This amused me

To be pacific

Why do you always go off on a tandem,
say goodbye without further adieu?
It’s time you climbed down from your pedal stool -
this is not a phrase you’re going through,

when antidotal evidence suggests
you’ve been three-wheeling right from the start.
Or rather from the gecko, as you might say.
You’re always upsetting the apple tart.

Now I’m not saying I’m above approach:
it takes two to tangle, I won’t deny it,
But when push comes to shovel and all’s set and done,
I need rest bite, a little piece of quiet.

I’d love to curl up in the feeble position
but you pass me from pillow to post, you see,
with your Belgian whistles and semi-skilled milk -
they do not pass mustard with me.

I don’t regard you as a social leopard.
You’re no escape goat – just a hapless case,
But do be aware there may be reaper cushions
when you cut off your nose despite your face.

Brian Bilston

Brian Bilston (1970 – present) is a British poet and writer. His real name is Paul Millicheap. He started publishing short poems on Twitter and built up a following of 400,000. His work has been compared to that of Dorothy Parker and Ogden Nash.

Beautiful Ugly

 

Beautiful Ugly

I read this book by Alice Feeney recently. I found it initially interesting but ultimately unbelievable.

The obsessive writer, Grady Green, has lost his wife in peculiar circumstances. His faltering career – one best-seller published and another needed – is boosted by his agent advising him to go to a remote Scottish island to live in a cabin and concentrate on his writing. He finds the islanders difficult to understand and get to know, but he thinks his perception is affected by the gallons of bog myrtle tea he drinks and which he decides is causing him to hallucinate. (Bog myrtle tea is not hallucinogenic)

I read it very quickly because I wanted to get to the end and discover the solution. I was able to skim much of it because there was so much repetition. How many times does the reader need to be told that the main character, the writer, is tired, confused, sleepless, and drinking too much? Many, many times, it would seem. Perhaps the author was being paid by the word.

Switching the point of view from main character to missing wife made it a little more comprehensible, but I wondered why she had bothered to stay with a husband who had so little time for her and for whom she had little respect. All was revealed, unconvincingly, at the end.

I had no empathy with any of the characters, apart from the dog, whose fate worried me, though he seemed to survive without harm.

I understand that the author is British, so wondered at the American spellings and expressions.

It is a deeply unpleasant book.

The sweetest thing

 

The sweetest thing

We received a sweet Christmas card this morning from our youngest great-granddaughters, Melia and Hailey. It’s remarkably simple, and an example of how Nursery and Infant teachers (and parents) can help their charges effortlessly create a pleasing card.

The reindeer ‘head’ is a footprint decorated with ‘googly eyes,’ painted antlers, and a big red nose.

Our card is addressed to ‘Great Janice’ and ‘Great Barry’ – a compromise between Great-GrandMa/Pa and the parents’ wish to avoid what they may regard as overfamiliarity. I think it works, and it’s the only time we’ll ever be called ‘great.’

 

Christmas music

 Christmas music . . .

 . . . means different things to different people. In our house it’s usually classical and traditional. This morning, we had the Mormon Tabernacle choir belting out their repertoire. Barry remarked at one point, ‘It’s not quite King’s College, is it?’

The Tabernacle choir has a robust approach to music, exuberant and cheerful, but not subtle. It’s uplifting, though, and gets the blood pumping.

Black bin day

 

Black bin day

We have two bins, a brown one for garden waste, and a black bin for household, non-recyclable rubbish. Each is emptied fortnightly, though that may change. The trend to fewer collections is increasing. This week Tuesday is black bin day. Kitchen waste is collected every week.

It’s a relief when the rubbish leaves the house – that makes it sound as though it travels out under its own speed – if only!

For perhaps one or two days we can relax before the inevitable build-up resumes.

Refuse collectors have a smelly, unpleasant job, even with machines that lift the bins to empty them. Manoeuvring huge bin lorries along narrow streets, between badly-parked cars, or along rutted lanes is not a task for the faint-hearted. Out in all weathers, boiling in summer, wet and cold in winter, the men work week in, week out. I’ve never noticed any women doing the job, but I’m sure there must be some. (On looking it up, I found that women are increasingly involved in ’waste management,’ though still under-represented.)

We certainly notice if the dustmen go on strike. Over-filled bags split and deposit their contents on pavements. Rats are attracted, though it’s foxes that spread wrappers and containers far and wide.

The clanking, clanging progress along the road and the beeping of a reversing lorry all welcome the day. The men work efficiently and quickly, ferrying the bins from kerb-side to dust cart, and returning them, empty, to their starting point.

 We should appreciate our bin men more than we do. Life would be far less comfortable without their service.

 

Coffee

I love the smell of coffee but can’t stand the taste, so am never faced with the dilemma of which version to choose. I can just about understand ‘espresso,’ and ‘black,’ but things become a little trying when I see ‘ristretto,’ ‘red eye,’ or ‘lungo.’ They must mean something to someone, and indicate that there isn’t such a great difference between a barista and a barrister – both have to study and understand confusing terms.

I was astonished to come across mushroom coffee blends. I don’t know how they came to my attention, but delving further, I discovered that there is a subculture in the coffee business. Mushroom coffee blends laud physical, mental, and possibly emotional benefits. For example, Lion’s Mane is credited with supporting mental . . . oh, I’ll just copy and paste from the London Nootropics site: Lion’s mane, also known as the ‘brain mushroom’, has been valued for its potential role in supporting cognitive balance and overall mental wellness.

It's been said to be traditionally used by Buddhist monks during meditation and has been appreciated for centuries in spiritual practices and wellness traditions.

 

The additions are called ‘adaptogen extracts.’ There is a world of information ‘out there’ to be read, studied, and inwardly digested. Is mushroom coffee more expensive than the non-adapted stuff? The short answer is ‘Yes.’ It can be between two and five times as expensive as ordinary coffee.

 

I considered buying a few samples as unusual gifts for some of the coffee drinkers in my family, but decided against it. Some people find there’s little difference between mushroom and standard coffee, and are surprised to discover that it doesn’t taste like mushroom soup.

I often  wonder how much more ‘refinement’ can be added to the simple process of refreshment.

 

Rainbow carrots

 

Rainbow carrots

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I have noticed a recent trend towards rainbow carrots. They are being promoted as a ‘superfood,’ whatever that means.

I read that they were once found only at farmers’ markets and high-end greengroceries, at an appropriately inflated price. They are still more expensive than the usual carrot-coloured articles, but are now readily obtainable at most  well-known superstores in the UK.

I bought some to try, but found the muddy colours quite off-putting, and not a feast for the eyes. It’s a good thing I wasn’t born five thousand years ago, when carrots in central Asia were usually purple, or even black or white. In Ancient Rome they were regarded as an herbal medicine and an aphrodisiac.

When carrots began to be more widely cultivated, in the Middle East, they were introduced to mediaeval Europe by Arab traders and were available in purple, red, yellow, and white. The carrots we now consider traditional only began to appear in the seventeenth century. The legend was that the Dutch farmers cultivated the orange variety to honour William of Orange who fought to free the Dutch from Spain. More prosaically, orange carrots were probably selectively bred as sweeter alternatives to the more bitter yellow carrots.

All carrots are beneficial. They are low in calories but high in vitamins and minerals, tasty, crunchy, and good for overall health.

Girls and boys

 

Girls and boys come out to play

                            Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I first published this post on my blog on 5th December 2009.

The brilliance of the moon has led my mind to the old Nursery rhyme 'Girls and boys come out to play' and I began to wonder about its origins.

There are regional variations of this rhyme, but the commonest one is as follows:

Girls and boys come out to play,
The moon doth shine as bright as day;
Leave your supper and leave your sleep
And come with your playfellows into the street.
Come with a whoop and come with a call,
Come with a good will or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall,
A halfpenny loaf will serve us all.

Some versions add the following:

You find milk and I'll find flour
And we'll have a pudding in half an hour.

Alternative renderings place boys before girls.

The rhyme has been in existence since at least 1708 when the first two lines were printed in dance books. The earliest known collection of nursery rhymes was published in London in 'Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book' in 1744 and contained the first six lines.

Why, though, would children be invited to play in the street by moonlight?

Prior to the beginning of the Industrial Revolution (c.1760-c.1840) children often worked alongside their parents when the workload was heavy, for example during harvest. Once the Revolution was under way they became essential to the domestic economy when all able-bodied members of poor working class families were expected to work to bring in money. Under the Poor Laws, failure to provide for the family often meant that its members were sent to the Workhouse, where husband and wife would be separated from each other and their children. Workhouse conditions were grim, and degrading and people did their very best to avoid the destitution that would force them to seek support from the parish.

Thus were children from a tender age put to work, often in appallingly dangerous conditions. Many employers preferred to hire children as they were cheaper to employ than adults, were nimbler and could be used in confined spaces. For example, in the coal mines a child might start work at 2 o'clock in the morning opening and shutting wooden doors to let air into the tunnels. He or she sat in the cold damp dark, alone, with a single candle until 8 o'clock in the evening. Other children pulled the heavy trucks of coal or worked on the surface sorting coal.

Some boys were employed as chimney sweeps, often climbing up inside the narrow branching chimneys of grand houses, scraping off soot. When they emerged, cut and bruised, their master would rub salt water on their elbows and knees before sending them up other chimneys. Charles Kingsley wrote 'The Water Babies' which gives an idea of the life of a young sweep before his escape.

In the textile factories children might work for 16 hours cleaning machines while they were still running. Workers lost fingers and some were crushed by the huge machines. The smallest children were sent under the machines to tie broken threads. It mattered little to the factory owners if their defenceless labourers died – children were cheap in all senses for a dead child was easily replaced from the many in orphanages.

So, the poverty-stricken, hard-working children had little time for leisure. Generally starting work at the age of five many of them were dead before they were twenty-five, killed in accidents or through ill-health caused by lack of fresh air, good food, exercise, poor working conditions.

However, children will play when they have opportunity and this nursery rhyme gives an indication of when they might have been able to forget the harshness of their lives and enjoy themselves for a short while.

                            Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons