Today was set aside for writing Christmas cards. I have written a grand total of zero. Maybe tomorrow will be better. It is such a daunting task. Last year I couldn't face it at all, and ended up sending none. It is not as if today has been a hive of activity. I have shopped, cooked, napped and read - The Mulberry Empire by Philip Hensher, which is excellent.
Orange wine has accompanied the cooking and eating - a vegetarian shepherd's pie, which for the first time ever I have made without checking Delia's instructions. And jolly nice it was too.
Claire has done even less than I today, but she has the excuse of being properly ill - bunged up with cold and shivery. I cannot afford to catch it.