christmas and after

 "Adeste Fideles" in full swing on the speakers, then a series of "Ave Marias" on the swelling tenor of Bocelli. Yes, the Winter of mine is without (major) discontent. Without Crachits, cousin, insufferable angliophiles and fleeting trills of thrills.
   I danced under the mistletoe with Eleanor Rigby this evening. I think. Or was it dizzy Miss Lizzy? All in a tizzy. Phantoms, hot kati rolls and snarling at innocent strangers on the streets. Hah!

 There was a picnic on the Eve. Like a mini-package of a picnic-spot, with neatly demarcated spaces for the groups. The knowing leers and backslaps of the old crowd (and the awed wonder of the tetchy li'l kids) made it worthwhile I suppose. An ex-teacher in jeans and top: I swear I could not recognise her. A fact which I imparted unto her when she tried the old emotional blackmail tactic - "Ah, you didn't even look at me at first..."
 Was it ever mentioned on this blog that older women are . . . nice? If not, let this be a resonating statement of above fact. :P