Foot (slightly) off the pedal

It was inevitable that the steam would run out. When Mr PB brought my morning tea (I know - luxury!) I was so sound asleep I didn't know where or when I was, and it wasn't till I'd had my (strong, strong) mid-morning coffee that I felt any desire to do anything. By that time we'd got our cleaned curtains back (for the destroyed bedroom) but so far I've lacked the inclination to put the hooks back, let alone rehang them. (Involves the step-ladder, much clambering, two people of whom one hooks and the other holds). They are lying full-length on the floor, in their plastic wrapping. Maybe on Monday ...?

I did, however, ice my Christmas cake. If you've followed me for a while you'll know the form - peaky pale fawn icing because I prefer natural sugar; glycerine that must be 45 years old ("chemically pure" it says ...); eggs separated with a red plastic separator that, again, only sees the light of day once a year; touch of lemon juice; fine dust of sugar all over the kitchen ...

But it's done, and back in a big box.I've just wrapped my last present. I shall make cranberry sauce, again probably on Monday, because I like it home-made at Christmas. Tomorrow I shall be in church morning and afternoon, and there is a carol service to sing. I'm looking forward to it. Singing about the coming of the light, on the shortest day of the year - bring it on!

Blipping the church windows as we returned from a brief round of the Bishop's Glen. Himself is still there, practising. I like the fact that it's easier to make out the windows (St Margaret and St Andrew) from outside, in the gloaming, than from inside, somehow.