George's letter box

I was sitting in front of the TV last night when another card seller messaged me and asked if I had a particular, hard to find card in stock. I did, and she asked for others, which forced me to tidy up my entire stock. This was no bad thing, as it resulted in my earning money without having to leave the sofa, much.

The package was made up last night, by about 11.30, and I left it by the door. Unfortunately I didn't surface until about midday today, and when I went out down the road, wearing my jeans over my pyjama bottoms, I found that the last post had long since departed. Not at 5.15 on Hogmanay, apparently! The next collection will be on Thursday. Reader, I tried. The box looked very festive, so I decided to capture it anyway.

I've spent the last few hours baking. We are invited to a party tonight, and another tomorrow. The brief for tonight is dessert (gf choc almond cake, and some gratuitous bowl of maltesers and jellies). Tomorrow was to have been savoury, but once I'd got out the gf baking books and realised that our house is bursting at the seams with chocolate right now, I decided to make some choc hazelnut brownies, using a bar of Lindt chocolate I'd been given. The mixture was too sweet, so I threw more cocoa in, and some strong coffee. Stimulant-overdose on a plate is the result, but it's a good way to go. Glad to say that the food processor I bought in the Black Friday sales is finally being used, and is up to the task of cake making. (I had thought there was a problem with the cutting blade, but that turned out to be operator error: the blade was upside down!) It even has a little drawer at the front for storing the blades. No more sliced fingers, I hope.

(We recently visited the house of a friend. She kept disappearing into another room.to make toast. We asked her what was with the disappearing act, and she said that her toaster was kept in the utility room, because it was cream, and the rest of her kitchen appliances were white! She'd be horrified at my kitchen: the toaster is stainless steel; the stove top espresso maker is red; the food processor is rose gold....)

Bath time is next, with a little re-run of a Gloucester ghost story I hope to tell at tomorrow's tea party party. (Not the big bang one tonight).

Reading the news, I'm glad that I don't still live in Blackfriars street, Edinburgh, because if I did, I'd possibly need a permit to enter my own street, and one for each of my party guests, because of the massive ticketed street party that takes over the centre of town these days. Back in the day, we just ran out to the Tron Kirk at midnight and kissed a few strangers before wrecking a bus shelter and gatecrashing another party. Traditional reserve was broken down for a few fabulous hours. No one died on the streets during the 80s years when I brought the new year in this way.

Well, this is England, and we do baking and fireworks and dinner parties. Drinking is not quite as much to the forefront, and I'm 55, and have to go volunteering on 2nd. (Still seems inhuman of the English not to have 2nd January as another public hangover-day).

Happy new year, wherever you be!