Sainsbury's delivered our Xmas shopping this morning. It came to £50 more than we spend in a normal week.
Mary called round mid-morning with a card. She's like a character from Austen or Gaskell; she tells my mother all about the latest doings of people my mother no longer knows- if she ever did- and pumps me for information which I do my best not to give her. "What's to report?" she asks. And I look at her blankly.
It's hard finding things for my mother to watch at Christmas. She doesn't like movies, she doesn't like anything with a story, so she's stuck with documentaries on BBC 2- most of which feature arctic wildlife. The one she's watching at the moment was shot in Dead Horse, Alaska.
Dead Horse- isn't that a brilliant name!