Yours truly, the hostess centre right, seems to be quaffing - gosh, what a surprise. Yesterday was the annual potluck Xmas party for my home students, some of whom have been working with me for years - we are familee, as Sister Sledge says. In the forefront, my version of a creche - a farm from Doubletake, with a Virgin from Ecuador giving birth in front of horses, pigs, sheep and cows, and a llama lying down with a lion on the roof. We ate, drank, celebrated creativity, worked after dinner on our essays despite the wine - perfect.
Roast free-range chicken covered with lemon juice, butter, garlic and rosemary. Can't go wrong. There were two. They vanished. Chicken soup cooking as we speak.
It's a hideous, dangerous day, freezing rain and more to come. Many thanks to the powers that be that no one I know is travelling today. Thanks for my roof, which is stronger than the roof of the Apollo Theatre in London, and for the strong roofs of my family and friends. For warm dry boots. For a sleeping cat, whose tiny snores assure me that we are warm and dry here, and this is home.
And ... here's my idea of the perfect Christmas tree.
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