Well, it did feel odd to arrive at Christmas a good 9 hours early. But it's a secret see. If the kids find out about this you'll all be moving here, and trust me, emigrating can be quite hard at times. Father Christmas used his magic shrinking potion to sqeeze down the Chimney and I had wisely left the glass door ajar and bottle of beer (Boags) and the mince pie ready. So he did leave a little something for B and I, and new booties for James (you know the cute little woolly numbers. One should always be very specific in those letters to Santa, and say 'wetsuit booties'). B and I have a turntable which can send our records to the computer and digitise them so our very long not available Scots and Irish folk. It works but so far my attempts have resulted in interesting double dubbing. Yes, I'm inept.
Looking through the records I see we have a lot of old Jaluka, and David Kramer. I might just try them on the locals for shock value. If I didn't value our 96 year old Scottish dancing teacher beyond rubies, I might be tempted to swap a Juluka song on CD for one of these blessed slow hop skip and jump Strathspey (I have more chance of falling pregnant than doing a Strathspey right).
Anyway we had a lovely lunch at Barb and Dale's place, ate FAR too much (ham, chicken, oysters, crayfish, various salads, and far too many kinds of pudding) It was - thank heavens - cool for dinner, overlooking the vast emptiness of Marshall bay. Dale makes furniture out of driftwood and I must ask him if I can put up pictures sometime.
We talked on Skype to the family - my brother and sister and Paddy back in South Africa. Paddy gave us fine present in terms of final results for his BSc.
But tomorrow will be another beautiful island day.
And I will press on with the book.
And to celebrate Christmas B's graphics card has fried.