After all the planning, prep and stress, we made it to Christmas. The dog loved his presents, the child less so – those that weren’t in cold hard cash were complained at. He’d already read “The art of War” and hated it, he didn’t like the cologne we thought he liked, and he was nonplussed with the print of the japanese street sign of jumping cats because he doesn’t do posters. Whatevs. He’s a tired teenager. It could have been worse.
Dinner was good – too much food as usual. Spatchcocked turkey, yorkie puds, stuffind balls, pigs in blankets, port-braised red cabbage, roasted and mashed spuds, and tons of veg.
