Ho Ho Ho

Now I know why Father Christmas laughs like that; it is because he is mean and mocking. Mean and Mocking. The boys have been gifted (via la_marquise_de_) with the Best Toy Evar, and I keep it shut away and laugh at them. Ho ho ho.

It is drugs, it is a cigar of super-strong catnip, which is skunk to these boys. They will not share, and if I let either of them run off with it either it would be slobbered to death by Barry, or else torn apart with rabbit-kicks by Mac. They both adore it, and they get it for about a minute each, and then have to content themselves with adoring the carpet upon which it so briefly lay.

Between them and the utter cold and utter dark and so forth, I'm not getting much work done. About a paragraph and a half, today. My brain is fritzed.

But I have been in Suffolk, and if any of you are ever in Suffolk and need the Best Ham Ever, go to Emmetts of Peasenhall. They also do mail order. Also Richardson's Smokehouse in Orford is worth your time. Also I spend ninety minutes on the platform at Peterborough Station, and after ninety minutes on the platform at Peterborough Station even Newcastle in the snow seems warm. (Not to the boys, you understand, they cannot believe how cold we are; but they weren't with me in Peterborough.)

I dunno what to do now. I was gonna see the new year in with a hot bath and a bottle of whisky - I had one ready - but I've been in town with friends until forced to come home by the shocking discovery that the pubs of Newcastle were closed (whatever happened? I swear this used to be a party city...), and that bottle of whisky turned into a pot of white tea and a bit of fine chocolate (whatever happened? I swear I used to be a party person...) and I guess I'll probably just go to bed. With a cat or two, most likely. I am the only warmth on their horizon.