There have been enquiries about where the usual photograph of me by the Christmas tree
have got to this year. So, in order to satisfy tradition, here it is.
As noted last year, Imbolc is the pagan festival which noted the shortest day of the year.
By now, it is gradually (though, as yet, imperceptibly) getting lighter in the evening and we have reached about as dark as it will get in the morning (which means quite dark indeed).
Surprisingly, given the dire predictions earlier on, the weather has been tolerably mild of late. We've given up with the central heating during the day as it's really not been necessary. Luckily, we've also been having little bits of rain so that the ground is not drying out completely.
The Bach Christmas on Radio 3 chugs on melodiously. I don't think that it is converting me into a Bach devotee but I am experiencing a general sense of well-being thanks to its well-proportioned sense of joy. It is also good to hear so many people on Radio 3 using the word spiritual.
As I was growing up in the 1960s and 70s and gaining my first tastes of classical music on Radio 3, no-one would have dared talk there about issues of the spirit; Bach's music was only ever discussed in terms of its mathematical purity. Or in other words, they completely missed the point; Bach knew his God closely and personally.
On Tuesday, my parents came over to visit and stayed for lunch. Ross did some marvels with a Delia Smith recipe for Bœuf en Daube. We all exchanged presents and I drove them home. They are now all satisfied that family duties have been done and have happily travelled south to spend the festive days with my sister Linda.
I went over to see Colin for lunch on Wednesday. This was also Imbolc itself but Ross, the pagan amongst us, seemed to be the least interested in this fact. Colin and I shared a lunch and raised a glass to those lesbians and gay men who were taking advantage of the change in the law to register their civil union on the first day possible - among them Alan and Jeremy.
Thursday brought healing with Janet and Friday a quick meet up with Mitch.
I've had news from Robert who is currently working in New York and is likely to be out of physical contact for many months to come. The parent in me is both very proud that he had all of this work and is quite ired by the fact that I never get to see him.
There have been enquiries about where the usual photograph of me by the Christmas tree
have got to this year. So, in order to satisfy tradition, here it is.
This is a photograph of Ross next to the artwork which we bought with my parents'
Christmas money. It is a photograph by a local artist, Ron Davies, of the Antony Gormley
installation on Crosby shore with the Welsh hills in the background. We are very taken
with it and it is a fine addition to the range of artworks that we possess.