It was brought to my attention by Henry and some
ill-conceived mistletoe that the festive season is upon us. I haven't bought an advent calendar nor
felled a pine tree for the entrance hall.
I thought it was still November.
Nevertheless, I knuckled down and had a good think about what I wanted
for Christmas.
1. New Aga pads, because Patches and Fang keep
eating them. They particularly like them
after Jenkins has cooked an oxtail stew.
Mind you, I think some of the teeth marks are Henry's.
2. A dinner bell that doesn't make Alastair salivate all over the house. He's a grown man, or man-child; must he be so
Pavlovian?
3. A new pair of overalls to stuff in the hole in
the wall where our condemned boiler used to be.
The current ones are getting a bit damp from the sleet. There's an awful draught around one’s ears
that is quite unsettling.
4. Safe metal pipes for the plumbing so the mice don't
chew through it. We had to overhaul the
old lead pipes with new-fangled plastic ones to comply with new safety
regulations. It's been a disaster. GCHQ ought to be investigating not some
blasted antique pigeon-leg, but rather the fact that all British mice now
gladly eat their weight daily in solid polyvinylchloride. When the same mice grow opposable thumbs and
start humming Ride of the Valkyries,
I suppose the powers that be will sit up and take notice at last.
5.
An interior ‘cherry picker’ to reach those
high-up hard-to-reach sets of antlers in the dining room for dusting – I swear
there's an entire society and arachnid civilisation up there. And in the Northeast corner of the drawing
room come to think of it. A sprinkler pipe with a sock on
the end simply does not do it.
6.
We should probably get the anaconda in the
library re-stuffed.
7.
Oh, and if we do that, we should throw out the
antelope. It's past stuffing.
8.
It's also that time of year for the stock take
of the apocalypse bunker. I think
Henry's been getting peckish in the middle of the night and having a go at the
venison jerky.
9. We need to also hire that lovely window cleaner
with the scaffolding. As Sylvie is away
for a while, we don't have anyone small and light enough to dangle off the roof
with bed sheets to give the top windows a good scrub. Alistair tried – it was a disaster.
10. I
don't really think this is a Christmas list anymore…goodness is that the state
of the tapestries in here? That needs
restoring too. You can hardly see the
greyhounds, so it just looks like a prancing stag with mental problems.
11. No
really, I'm going off topic. Lists will
do that to a person, you know. Once you
start, it's impossible to stop. I have
lists everywhere. We don't have a dining table any more, just a
pile of lists. Most of the lists
superseded the other lists. Perhaps I
should ask for something for myself
for Christmas?
12. Hmm,
maybe a new 20-bore? No, there’s life in
the old girl yet. But crikey, the hinges
on this gun safe are a bit squeaky…where's my WD40?
13. Ah,
there it is. Goodness, this mid-Georgian
outbuilding is a tip. Must clear it out over the holidays. It will give Alasdair something to do when
he's back from university.
14. Oh,
I know. I keep receiving these awful
frumpy waxed hats. But what one really feels
is the need for tweed. A tweed cap does
everything the waxed hats do, but looks much more right. Yes, that's what I'll
do. I shall ask for a tweed cap.
15. I’ll
bet you one tweed cap that what I actually
get is a stuffed weasel. Or worse, a new
antelope.
