So there’s food in the kitchen, clean sheets on the beds, fairy lights at the windows, snowflakes on the ceiling, a tree awaiting its apotheosis, and a few nearests-and-dearests wandering about, bringing bottles and pinching the wrapping paper and scissors. Yes, I’m one of the lucky ones, and intend to enjoy it while it lasts.
Also a time for ghost stories, which I don’t usually like, but there was an exception last night. It took a little thought to work out why.
Of course: most people over a certain age will be counting the missing at this time of year, and mine are beginning to gather; not so much ghosts, as holes in the air. Tomorrow the not-being will be casually interspersed among the official guests at the dinner table. As a social occasion, I’m quite looking forward to it.