Sleepin' in the warmth of the bay

In the bay of the window, where there are effectively radiators on three sides (and also these are the warmest radiators in the house, being the first that the boiler feeds), there are two cushions on the floor. Each cushion properly holds a cat, through these chilly times.

The cute thing is that I only put one of those cushions there. T'other has been knocked off a chair and grimly dragged into position.

Sometimes these boys actively scare me.

On virtue, as an artefact

So yesterday morning I woke up about 4.30. And lay there in bed, thinking "I should just get up. Get up and do some work, make a virtue of the morning, before I go off for lunch and fun with friends." But, y'know. It's not my practice. And warm cats, cold house. Radio. Darkness. I stayed where I was, and let the time pass by; and finally dozed off again about seven o'clock, just when I was more seriously thinking about getting up, and didn't get up till nine, and did nothing at all with the day. And grumbled at myself about it all the day long, and like that.

This morning? I woke in the dark, and lay there thinking "I should get up. Today, I really should. See if I can make a practice of it, see how useful it is, how much I get done in these early hours..."

Then I looked at the clock.

It was 2.45am.

Um, no. I stayed where I was. Warm cats, radio, darkness, till I fell asleep again. Sometimes virtue is actually just folly.

It might as well sn -- oh. Apparently it's going to.

According to a forecast in the Torygraph, we will not only have eight inches of snow by Thursday, but a white Christmas is practically a certainty. A serious white Christmas, major snowfalls. Big freeze.

I wouldn't mind, but Karen's flying in on Christmas Eve. Supposed to be. So I am now angsting about where, when and indeed whether she will be able to land if there's a whiteout.*

In other news, I came home to find no internets. And fled to the phone for newses, and that survived just long enough to tell me there was a known problem in my area, then it also went dead. Oy. I nearly turned and fled back to town, back to the Lit & Phil and its beloved wifi. (Have I ever been rude about its wifi? I retract, I rescind, I resile from all my former heresies...) Or further afield, indeed, because how would I survive the night?

But instead I shopped for dried fruits and eggs and almonds. And have mixed them up with fresh fruits and marmalade and honey and marsala and brandy and spicings and sourdough crumb, and that can all grog overnight and in the morning I shall steam it for hours'n'hours and call it a Christmas pudding. I am kinda making this up as I go along, but I can't see anything going particularly wrong with it. If I could only find my pudding-basin. I have a special one bought for exactly this occasion, and the damn' thing is hiding rather efficiently well. It's probably sulking, because I promised it a steak-and-kidney pudding which I have not made. It does have to be somewhere, but really truly I cannot find it. *hunts*

*Everything is my fault, and bitter justice: I had in fact told her that it almost never snows for Christmas here. So.