We had a lovely flurry of snow this afternoon which nicely topped up the remains from the other day.  We walked the dogs in the early evening glow and the park was a wasteland of white and sleety snow.  Oddly attractive and frightfully cold!

We’re not far from Basingstoke or Reading.  In fact it’s 25 & 30 miles respectively.  They are both just beyond the M3.  While we were enjoying our little white-out Mcflurry of a blizzard, both Basingstoke and Reading were under siege.  Sort of.  People were stuck in their cars with but a few drops of water and little in the way of food, ignoring the small squares of carpet which would hold a fair few crumbs of…something.

One of the people I follow on Twitter was somewhat distressed as her 81 year old step-father left to go shopping at 1pm for an hour and didn’t get back until after 10pm.  He had been stuck in traffic without a mobile phone (apparently he always leaves it at home…) and ended up walking up the steepest hill in Berkshire to get back to his wife.  One presumes he was a bit chilly!

His wife, meantime, had been stuck in a house with no boiler (it having blown up because of the freezing water), no electricity (it went off shortly after the boiler) and without knowing what was happening to her husband.

While washing up, I was listening to 5 Live (I do this whenever Radio 4 gets a bit dull – not often) and there were cries of distress coming from all along the M4 and surrounding roads as listeners rang in just to talk to another human being.  Most people were displaying a bit of the old blitz spirit, while the DJ tried to get them to blame someone for their predicament.  He didn’t mean god!  I think he wanted them to blame the council for not gritting.  But they disappointed him, I’m happy to say.  Most were just resigned.

Mirinda was supposed to go to her book club this afternoon.  I scraped Sidney clear of her blanket of snow and asked Mirinda if she was sure.  It wasn’t snowing but the sleet was being a pain.  She figured it would be ok.  About an hour and a half later I heard her come back in.  Apparently the further south she drove, the worse the weather was and the less visibility available.  Wisely, she had turned back.  I dread to think what would have happened had she continued on her way.

PS:  I decided to try making stollen again today, for the third time.  I told Mirinda if it didn’t work this time I was NEVER making it again.  Guess what?  I’m NEVER MAKING IT AGAIN!

Another glorious and cold day.  The temperature is yet to rise above zero so the ground keeps getting slipperier.

Generally around this time of the year we go to Guildford cathedral for the carol service.  There’s nothing quite like the pleasure of belting out a few Christmas carols in a large sell-out crowd.  And it is ALWAYS a sell-out.  The warnings are clear:  turn up an hour before the start or risk sitting outside in the cold and dark.  Or sitting in your car listening to a CD.

Sadly, more often than not, we forget to look for the date and end up missing it.  And such was the case this year.  However, eagle-eyed Mirinda spotted the local carol service at St Andrew’s church.  It was tonight and we were free.

It was a slow, freezing slide to the church (well, for Mirinda, anyway, I had my spikey’s on).  We arrived at the gate and the vision of the tower, seeming to rise from the beams of the spotlights along with the bells tolling out as people arrived along the cobblestones, was quite ethereal.  I reminded Mirinda that this was very similar to the call to the mosque but she denied this and gave at least four salient points why it wasn’t.  I stood corrected.

St Andrew’s was recently renovated inside, with a large area at the back created.  Rooms for kids and a kitchen area.  On top a balcony area for more seating.  All painted clean, bright, white.  It looks modern yet sits nicely within the old church.  I’m sure there was probably a lot of complaints when the idea was first mooted but I’m glad it went ahead.

Tonight the church was packed.  We were sat to one side of the centre aisle so our view of the proceedings was almost exclusively a couple of columns.  Fortunately we were sitting within sight of one of the female church helpers so we knew when to sit, stand, pray, sing and shut up as we took our cues from her.

One child was not too keen on the whole thing.  Just as we started the first thing – a silence – he started carrying on and was dragged kicking and screaming into the kid’s area and locked away behind big, glass, sliding doors.

The older I get and the more atheist I become, the harder it is to listen to the rubbish they speak in the lessons.  Honestly, does anyone really believe the whole Adam & Eve thing?  And, if so, how can they justify Adam being such a dobber!  I mean what a pain.

Anyway, the service has nine lessons and a load of carols between them.  Local dignitaries read the lessons (there was one from the mayor, one for our parliament member, another from the owner of the local newspaper, etc) and the choir struggled through a load of songs.

To be honest, the quality of the choir was not very high but what they lacked in skill, they made up for in gusto.  Sadly this merely stood to highlight the lack of skills!  Also, whoever arranged the carols really needs to bring the key down a bit.  It was very difficult for everyone to sing!

As we finished, and shuffled off into the dark, we smiled.  It was very enjoyable attending a carol service in our local church.  To be fair, it’s nice to have a local church.  Or anything.  I actually like having a pub I’ve been to more than a couple of times.  Maybe I’m starting to settle.

We strolled home in the very, very, very cold and had a good rollicking debate about the stupid lessons we’d just sat through.  Mirinda even had a problem with some of the carol lyrics.

At home, we were welcomed most vigorously by Carmen and Day-z.  We spared a thought for poor Brad who passed away recently aged 19,  We cuddled the girls.  For warmth, more than anything else.  Perhaps this is truly religion – the love of each other and our dogs.

One final thing…in the second verse of O Come All Ye Faithful, my personal favourite, the third line reads “lo! he abhors not the Virgin’s womb“.  Now, given that the word ‘womb’ does not have to rhyme with anything, couldn’t it have been written with a little more beauty?  Jesus, guys!

What a glorious day! While the temperature remains sub-zero, this morning the sky is deepest blue marred only by an occasional contrail.

I was late for the shops this morning, mainly because I was too intrigued watching the sheepdog woman trying to skid her car across the ice outside our house. It was like Dancing on Ice if the dancing was a car sliding and the ice was…well, ice.

So, I was late leaving. You may think a trip to Waitrose to buy a meals worth of food is not generally dependent upon the time. You’d be wrong!

There are two things that need to be considered. Firstly, the general increase in shoppers because it’s a Saturday. This means the supermarket population generally doubles between 10 and 12 in the morning. I like to get in there at 8:30, when it opens. This guarantees it’s just me, a couple of hardy 88 year olds and the odd chap with the tiny hearing dog.

Secondly, and possibly more importantly, it’s the last Saturday before Christmas, meaning Farnham is FULL. All those commuters coming out, pushing strollers and making coo coo noises at children they hope are theirs. The way they act, they can’t see very much of them.

You can always tell which parent stays at home with the kids on these family days. It’s the one remaining aloof and tutting quietly whenever the generally absent parent does something completely stupid. Like blow a straw into the youngest’s face.

But,  I was late!  A queue was spilling out of Starbucks with strollers and shopping trolleys erupting into coffee shop rage.  Generally I stop here first but decided against it.  I entered Waitrose and instantly regretted it.  It was supermarket hell in there.  So many people, so little space.

And, possibly the worst is that these people do not know how to shop in a supermarket!  They leave their trolleys wherever they please, blocking everyone’s access to the butter.  They push in at the deli counter because they are in rush to get the final scotch egg.  They ask stupid questions like “My wife usually buys the groceries.  Can you tell me where the bread is?” when it’s right beside them.  All this and more.  I couldn’t get out fast enough!

I was lucky in one respect.  My timing was such that I managed to get a spot on a conveyor with only one customer in front of me.  And being manned by one of my favourite check-out ladies.

We often chat about stuff as they have become familar with me – I do shop every day – and each one discusses different things.  One likes opera and hates cooking, another is obsessed with her grandchildren, a third is a very keen walker who hates aprons.  It was the latter who served me this morning.

After a short exchange about the weather, she asked, “When do you break up for Christmas?”  I smiled and answered “About three years ago.”  She chuckled, I paid, I left the increasing crowds.

On the way home I thought about how awful shopping had been when I worked (mixing it up with the Saturday and late night crowds) and how much my opinion of it had changed as a result of NOT working.  I think I just might…enjoy it!  Good grief.

Final day at work for 2009 – now off for 2 weeks.

Work party last night at the Arsenal Football Ground in London. 740 people attended – knew hardly any of them and had great difficulty finding those that I did know.

Hadn’t read the invitation so didn’t realise where it was, nor that it was black tie, nor that I was supposed to bring the invite with me.

I don’t normally give a toss about dress codes, but over the course of the day I realised everyone was fussing a lot about what they would wear. I went for lunch with 3 of the yanks and they had booked a hairdresser and were going to wear full length frocks! And then I heard GNF (our CEO and my boss) say to one of the guys who was going to wear work clothes “I am sure you can do better than that”.

So had an “important” (ie pom pom, jolly hockey sticks, fake transatlantic rah rah meeting) presentation in the afternoon that was supposed to finish at 4pm and started getting more and more anxious about this Christmas party.  At 4.15 (still droning on and with all the fun of marketing reports yet come) I told Morticia I had a call to take and left – jumped on the tube, shot up to Oxford street and went shopping.  Spent over £200 as I had to buy everything – shoes, jewelery, outfit, the works and just got back in the nick of time for the taxi.

What a palaver – but I noted GNF did notice what I was wearing so I guess it was good to show I had at least changed – but really I don’t know why I go to these things!!

Mirinda

It snowed a bit last night. The home counties, but more in Kent, were given a thick blanket of it in the early hours.   So I woke up to a lovely wintry scene.  Day-z keeps going out in it but Carmen thinks it’s not worth her while.  Here’s the view from the study window.

snowy garden

The birds are scrabbling around the feeders, trying to clear the snow.  One of them has a mini-snow plough and the others are cheering him on.  Oops!  He just drove off the edge of the bird table.  Good job he can fly.

I was going to attend the second week of presentations at uni today (my group presented last week but we were asked to support the other half of the class) but the news has advised not to go out unless you really, really have to.  I guess that leaves me stuck at home until Mirinda comes home and I go up to the station to meet her.

Yesterday I had a session at the Farnham and Alton Talking Newspaper.  For those that don’t know, it’s a charity that records the local paper onto a disc then sends it out to the visually impaired, free of charge.  There’s a small recording studio and lots of hi-tech equipment, located in a pretty grim housing estate.  Well, grim for Farnham.

There’s always three readers and an engineer and we take turns reading bits from the paper that we’ve edited.  It’s always fun and I never seem to see the same person twice!  Yesterday I was reading with Di, an ex-school teacher of English.  And I thought I was a stickler for language.  Di is worse!  She groans as she edits, despairing over the poor English she will have to read.  The other two readers kept telling her to chill out but she refused to be silenced.  Inside, I was cheering her on.  Whenever I edit, I make a few grammatical changes so I don’t sound like an idiot!

It was a slippery walk home afterwards (at about 6pm) and, a few hours later the snow started.  I don’t care what anyone says, I love the snow!

So, today we’re back to grey skies and mud. And while the temperature is hovering around the 3 mark, the icy wind makes it feel more like -10! Although, I should admit, it’s all warm and toasty in the house.

I don’t easily admit defeat when it comes to cooking but stollen has me flummoxed! Because I forgot to make my usual Christmas cake in September, I decided to try this Austrian festive delight instead.

The first time I had stollen was many years ago at Dural, of all places. Bob & Claire had an exchange student from Germany, Ina, and she prepared a stollen as per her mum’s (or grandmum’s) recipe. I was hooked! It was delicious!

For those that don’t know what it is…it is a thick, bready type cake full of currants and sultanas, almonds and marzipan with a subtle lemon icing. It can be eaten fresh or toasted like fruit loaf. A little is a lot, if you know what I mean. It is both rich and more-ish, if such a thing is possible.

I have since eaten stollen many times and it’s appeal has never diminished. So I figured it would be a good alternative to my usual Christmas cake. It was also an advantage that you made and ate it straight away, rather than let it sit and soak up alcohol for three months!

So yesterday I attempted my first stollen. My first attempt, with very old yeast, can now be used as an anchor for one of those huge container ships. I tasted it and a very small amount was enough to fill my stomach. The taste wasn’t bad but the density certainly was. It had the thickness of lead. To say I was devastated is not gilding any lily!

Today I will try again (this time with some slightly younger yeast) and see how that goes. If it doesn’t work, I may just follow Mirinda’s advice: To buy one and say it’s mine!

I should add that I didn’t feed any of the first attempt to the birds for fear they’d not be able to take off again after eating it.

Just a small update about the weather today.

We had a lovely fluffy fall of snow! Ok, it didn’t last long and the drizzly rain soon turned it to smush but it looked lovely for a long while.

Anyway, I’m off to bed now.

Very cold this morning!  Which is not altogether a bad thing.  The muddy ground in the park was frozen so the poodles didn’t need their feet washed when we returned.  Still, for some unknown reason, they both thought it important to lick the frost off the bench near the castle.  Not sure if this is because the puddles are iced over.  Nice to see the sun is shining as well – quite rare recently.

I had a knock at the door last night.  I say night but it was probably about 5:30.  I opened it to find two lads of around 14-15 who launched into “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” with gusto.  I was instantly transported back 7 years to Haslemere.

Around this time of the year, a knock would come on our door and for a few excruciating minutes, we’d have to put up with this same song, sung with total disregard for anyone’s ears.  Now I don’t mind when it’s small children that you can coo over, swapping ‘cute’ grins with the parents standing proudly behind them.  And I don’t mind the explosion of light and sound that accompanied Santa, his sleigh and an army of volunteers collecting for Bernado’s or some such charity.  What I DID mind was the fact that these two lads were too old, couldn’t sing and were, basically singing with menaces in order to extort cash in return for some sort of protection.  Bricks through the window, scratched car, that sort of thing.

The first year, they appeared to be about 12 and they kept coming back.  Same two lads, same atmosphere of threat hanging around their shoulders.  I would have been quite happy to just pay them but this didn’t seem quite like playing the game properly.  Of course, as the years went by, they grew older.  At our last Christmas in Haslemere they were easily 17.  And you couldn’t avoid them, not like Halloween, because they never came on the same day.  And it was always during the week.  At a time, guaranteed to find people at home, just ripe for the picking.  When we moved to Farnham, the fact that we wouldn’t have to go through this silly charade ever again, was indeed a blessing.

And then, last night, it was like a visitation from the ghost of Christmas Past.  To be fair, their singing was slightly better.  And then, as the rendition finished and I reached for the change on the junior Jali by the door, they produced a charity bucket and I noticed the id badges hanging around their necks.  I also, for the first time, noticed they were quite clean cut, cheerful lads and not in the least threatening.  The sort of boys to make a mother proud.  I happily handed over my change and wished them a Merry Christmas, tinged with an unnoticed apology for thinking they were thugs.

One irritation that apparently will haunt me forever is the fact that most people get the words wrong in We Wish You a Merry Christmas!  Anyone who knows me, knows I HATE this sort of thing!

These carollers always sing “…Good tidings we bring, to you and your king…” which is just plain stupid.  I don’t have a king and I’m sure, if I did, he’d not like being lumped in with me when it came to tiding reception.  The actual lyric is “…Good tidings we bring, to you and your KIN…” which, of course, means the people listening and their families.  Kin as in relatives, not King as in monarch.  I blame the mass stupidity engendered in the lack of proper English in our schools.  I assume, the word ‘kin’ is gradually disappearing and, therefore, people don’t know what it means.  And, going for the closest thing they DO understand, they slip in a quick ‘king’.  Nonsensical!