Wardie Wild Ones

Christmas Day and I can report full compliance with regulations. Six of us from three households did meet up at the SK’s sis. Though as the sis is struggling with a broken wrist, the brother-in-law was pressed into action in the kitchen. This meant I had to take in role in pouring drinks rather than just downing them. And amongst the gifts, I got an ankle chain. I was delighted. Ahem. The sis nodded towards SK and said, “I was told you were after one.” The SK looked blankly and then twigged, “I think that might have been an anchor chain he was after.” Much mirth. I’ve been wearing it ever since.*
Earlier I’d visited the daughter to see the nipper. Outside, in a perishing wind. I’m not sure if that was totally allowed in their garden or whether it should have been in a public park. They warmed me up by pouring me a chilled Prosecco as is customary. 
And Santa was good to me too. Fleeces (plural) and a cord shirt. Whisky. And books aplenty. About the lives of mushrooms, the fortifications of the Forth, sailing and a map of tides of the Forth. I think we’ll need to institute our reading hour again. And try and stay awake this time. 

* I discovered on Boxing Day that it was all a joke. Well conceived and executed I’ve got to say.