Boxing

Sporadic internet and lack of wireless on my phone unless I'm three or four miles away from the house makes for terribly spotty blogging. It's five in the afternoon on Boxing Day and we've picnicked in a little hut with a wood fire, by a frozen lake where the children skated in their gumboots, dined on ham and baps and walked back along the river where the ground is thawing and the dogs chased rabbits, albeit unsuccessfully. The house is freezing but we have heavenly electric blankets that help with the nightime chill in bed. I've taken to showering in my mother's bathroom because it's hot and carpeted and I'm wimpy and American. My brother and his wife could not be more hospitable and kind and smiley and rush around all day long cooking and caring for us. Blissful Christmas with all of us around the table, covered in a white cloth, large arms of spruce and Swedish red candles. We ate turkey and potatoes roasted in goose fat and Christmas pudding with brandy cream. Just as I think I'm going to sneak to my bed for a pre-supper nap, I found Jumby there in his grey knitted beanie, thus rendering him a striking doppelganger for Bennie from Crossroads and I startle as I see him lying there, sleeping, spectacles perched on his nose, another Ian McEwen book on his chest (he's making his way through all of them, addictedly, rather as I was twenty years ago; Chesil Beach has been flung to my side of the bed so that's my next book). Awfully happy to be here in bleak, beautiful Scotland and awfully grateful for the sanity of my bro and his wife. The children are blisfully happy and quite tribal, alternating between spoons and Scrabble and hide & seek, regardless of age. Tomorrow more children arrive and still more on Friday for Saturday's shoot. On Saturday night we are 16 for dinner plus eleven children. Even N seems to be okay hanging out with children rather much younger than him; I suppose it's a relief. More soon. Less rushed too, I hope. Merry merry & happy boxing to all.