_. 2nd Sunday in Advent
Woke up at 10 after a bad night. My nose running like the Nile. Could it be cat hairs from the Smiths?
After a large breakfast we headed out to Grassington and the Devonshire Arms where we sat supping ale. Charlotte, clutching a ginger wine, looked over at me and exclaimed that lager and lime is a 'female drink'. She studied me very searchingly as though my reaction was vital to her survey. She is a person who tends to pigeon-hole everyone and everything, and because of my pint I'm now in the same hole as Jeremy Thorpe, Larry Grayson and Sir Benjamin Britten.
We did the usual round of craft shops, but bought nothing. We made our way to Burley for 5 to let Charlotte inspect Frances. Baby was in front of the fire wrapped in white wool and pink ribbons, but unhappy and restless. Lynn says it's because of her teeth. Our stay was only brief and we left so that Graham and Charlotte can go on to Manchester [or was it Rochdale?] for a paella with other friends. They left at 6pm. We cannot decide whether they enjoy our company or not. They must do, or why would they bother coming?
Sat by the fire and wrote Christmas cards. Watched the Borgias. Before he left Graham commented that the series is very poor and that the Borgias were not quite as nasty or ruthless as they make out.
Bed after 11.
-=-
