A glance at the calendar and mounting panic turned into outright terror. Time to do the Christmas shopping. While 'the font' headed off to Ikea for those Swedish staples - raw herring and lingon - yours truly dealt with the important matters. Champagne, Chablis, and Yquem from the wine merchant. Oysters, foie gras, and a Christmas buche from the market. All the components of a typical French Christmas eve chosen and paid for in less than two hours.Last year we had capon for Christmas day lunch, the local tradition. This year we've ordered a turkey. It should arrive in the butchers tomorrow lunchtime. The cheese will be ready later today and the flowers can be picked up from the outdoor market at lunchtime. All we're waiting for now is British Airways to get back to normal.
Wilf was determined to help with the unpacking. Upstairs in the kitchen, his head was to be found in every carrier bag, excitedly sniffing away at their contents. The word 'no !' conveniently forgotten. He sat contentedly in the middle of the floor noting, exactly, where each item was put away.
The family fellows last walk of the day has now been brought forward to seven o'clock. A small spoonfull of coconut ice cream at seven thirty as a bed time treat and he's sound asleep by eight. Last night he couldn't raise his back leg to christen the plane tree by the gate. The first time he's ever had this problem. Can a dog look downheartened ? Clearly a major boy dog thing. One of those inevitable milestones on his journey and a reminder to us to enjoy every minute of this Christmas with him.
