Friday 8th December

Today I signed up to Jacquie Lawson, it is a naff website I know, but with two birthdays this month plus Xmas, sending cards to the USA and Switzerland and I decided it would be easier.  This time of year I remember my friend in America and how long I have known her, since my giddy late teens.  She lived in Lampeter and I met her when my father (can I call him that?) took me to Aberaeron where he kept his boat.  We arrived in his Italian sports car at the pub where he had had an affair with the daughter of the owner.  I say had had because another girl friend turned up as well and I found the whole thing embarasssing ;)  Has poor Christine Keeler brought those early memories of the 60s back I wonder?

Margaret from Lampeter was to fall in love with an American airman, I know she told me stories of riding back in a service plane, bucket seats and the loo behind a curtain.  We have spent most of our time apart in two different countries, but I always remember her parents were kind to me as I tried to get to grips with my family.  She is a cat owner, and keeps her moggies inhouse which I find rather strange.

Carols on the thing that plays CD, Paul has found them out, I can also see David delivering a card to Nigel across the road, the festival is on its way.  The fire has been rekindled from last night, the coal keeping it alight and the weather is very cold, so we are debating getting more coal, wood for the flames, coal for longevity.

Lucy has at last ventured out into the garden, you can tell the weather by her response to it, too cold this morning, as I went to let the chickens out she watched from the french windows.

I notice Tabor has counted 13 different things that caught the eye.  So what did I see this morning, several long tailed tits flew by 'grazing' the trees, I can just about see one in the following photo.  The blue tits cluster around the fat balls, and the grey dove feasts on the grain I have thrown down for her.  A few seconds later the squirrel rushed by, he seems to be burying goodies.  The pheasants are still alive in the field, last bird to go to bed, their noisy calling lasting into the night.