Party Pooper

I can't go to the party!  Various debilitating symptoms, not agonising pain, made it seem inadvisable to spend the evening looking jolly and watching the clock hoping my taxi would arrive soon to let me flop. 

One gets so scintillating in company, doesn't one?  Full of witticisms and intelligent conversation.  But when you leave the adrenalin-inducing people, it all evaporates and these days, leaves me drained. And tomorrow there is so much to be done.  I have to get the Ham for the Christmas Dinner in my son's house (that and the Bread Sauce are my only chores there).  Visit the hair-dresser perhaps - no, better make an appointment for Monday.  Then lunch with a friend - eat too much, talk too much, drink too much and that's Saturday sorted!

Got my pressies early - but got nothing for my children (all adults) yet.  Still, they are mainly boys who should be delighted that I remembered their lovely wives and children, but yet....  Saw some 'grow your own mushrooms' packs for about €20.  It only takes one operation and then in eight weeks you can watch them popping out of the ground.  Trouble is, I can't remember where they are sold, so unless I get some divine inspiration in the next few hours, that's another good idea gone west.

I wrote a little story for my friend who moved house recently.  It's a short little piece - 800 words or so.  I read it on a local radio show this evening and it sounded good.  On Wednesday night I pre-recorded a show for Christmas Eve with some  friends and I read two other Christmassy stories about children.  It was great to get some use for them - I hope somebody listens and enjoys them.  I'll probably forget to listen myself, and I'm my only fan that I know of.

This is our little girl, Sinéad.  She's four now but the picture was taken some time ago.  She's all set for Christmas although she's not saying too much about it - she likes to keep her thoughts to herself.  She came to see me yesterday.  She loves the place where I paint, and can open the tightest capped tube of paint in a flash.  She is not interested in crayons or coloured pencils - but she loves the wet tubes of paint.

When Sinéad walks into the room, everyone smiles.  Isn't that a wonderful gift to have?  I'm sure Santa has something really nice in his sack for her.