Somewhere, under these rainbows ...

When we arrived at Ewan's on Christmas Day, there was a rainbow right over his house; as we packed the car and left his brother's today there was another one, as if seeing us on our way ... But before that, my d-in-l had given me a lift at my usual shopping time of 8.15am to go to Sainsbury's to save me having to brave the last minute bourach in Morrison's at home. It also gave me the chance to stock up on the interesting things I don't see here, though it gave a strange-looking basket to check out. 

I hate leaving. I hate leaving anywhere, actually, but especially family and the celebrations we've had together and the place I now associate with all of them. We were away before 11am, still mindful of the forecast of gale force gusts despite the fact that they seemed to have vanished from the weather app overnight. We drove through some torrential rain, windscreen drowning under the spray from lorries, but despite having to take it fairly gently made it home in time for lunch. (I remembered on the M8 to turn the heating up, so it wasn't too chilly)

The house was full of Christmas abandoned, as it were - I had quite a bit of tidying up to do from that sleepy morning when we left. Mary had sent us home with soup and sausage rolls for lunch AND a shepherd's pie for dinner, so I was spared any need to do anything except go out in a dry spell under a clear little moon (and whatever planet was bright enough beside it for me to notice) to buy a new wine box. (I'd been too early. Again.)

And over dinner we listened to one of our many CDs of choirs singing carols, because it's still Christmas, whatever the world is saying. Tonight's was one of the choir of St George's Chapel Windsor, on which there is a performance of a carol arranged by Himself. It's glorious and joyous.

And now, once more, I'm heading bedwards in a state of some exhaustion. Himself is coughing like a dyspeptic sea lion, and tomorrow I have to see the physio. Life ...