The Washing Machine Repair Man came and went; I made a vegetarian chilli.
Katy came to the door.
There is something really life-affirming about playing new songs to a trusted friend.
Katy played her songs on the piano, and I played mine on the guitar. We are both going to start recording albums in the New Year.
We late chilli and roared with laughter at the general stupidness of things and we talked about holidays, recording engineers, kindness and food.
It's nearly time to bring the scrawny little Christmas tree in from the garden and see how many baubles I can cram on to it's branches. The collection of tree decorations is a bit like a history of our family that only appears once a year; it belongs to the growing-up years of the Offsprogs and I feel a bit guilty for not bothering with a tree last year.
This year, I am bothering.
And for some reason, getting Christmas cards this year is particularly uplifting: I think it is the fact that despite being really fed up and hard up, people like contacting each other offline: "Eff off, Internet, with your money-grubbing ways and your spying on us and data-selling shenanigans".
Resistance through Christmas cards!
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