The inevitable introspective discursive unfocused sort of 'festive' edition

With bonus grumpiness, random tips and Christmas treats

Effort made

Christmas turned out better than expected. Alone for the first time. In a world of endless physical and digital jabber it sometimes pays to be a happy introvert.

I certainly weigh less than I otherwise would have, under Plan A, with fewer damaged neurons. Plan A was my oldest and bestest friend joining me for the first time in my adopted France. For this event much artisan beer and many fatty sweet confections were assembled. And a turkey. Then France closed the border with Britain. And I won another turkey in a tombola. I'm not making this up.

It's a moment to celebrate that I'm exclusively a social drinker and confectionary scoffer.

My OH is having a cool, dark, damp break up here for New Year and my birthday, temporariliy abandoning her warm, bright winter bolthole overlooking the Med.  And Youna, her/our amazing version of a dog. (More on Youna below).

I 'did' Christmas all the same. The whole shebang. The house is festooned with cheesy lights, outside and in. A Guinea fowl was roasted. The cake got iced. The Gideon Coe Christmas Special reminded me that it's nice not to be subjected to Michael Bublé on Christmas Day. (Nothing against him. It's just that I can't fathom why anyone would bother when there's Frank Sinatra). More on something Bublé-related later, too. I walked to the sea, after dinner. It couldn't have been a nicer day.

A number of noticings also occurred. About this life and this world. Stand by...