Le Soir de Noel

And here we are again.

The Duck is definitely fucked,  Sorry sorry.  Definitely stuffed.

I quite by accident bought a duck that is or was the product of  that liver thing that the French do.  And No, I don’t want to talk about that.  I doubt that they suffer.  Okay.

Anyway, this Duck is awfully big, presumably after they extracted the vey large liver, and overfed the whole thing.

I stuffed the cavity with my own recipe that I will never be able to reproduce because I was a bit pissed by the time I got round to it, and can’t actually remember anyway.  But I did put in a large dollop of Quince Jam.  Don’t ask.  I made that myself.  And anyone who has the time and patience to make Quince Jam needs to get a life

My Number Three Son is now laid out on the floor, absolutely comatosed.  They don’t have the same stamina these days, do they?  They all fall over after a couple of glasses of wine.  God help me of the number of times that I produced a half decent Christmas Dinner when I was  bit plonked..

But all is well.  Tis Christmas, and of some joy to me.

Happy Birthday.

 

Christ Mass.

I wonder if this has anything to do with anything anymore.

I have briefly lost track of who I am, and of who I thought I was.  And just before Christmas.

My youngest son who is now 51 years old, and technically a bastard, has now decided to give me a hard time, despite being well loved for all of his life by me.

Sadly for him there is nothing that I can do.  I loved his father, but his father didn’t have quite the same commitment to me, for him.

I behaved very badly 51 years ago, so the fault will always be mine.  But I can’t say that I am having a really bad time about this, because he is mine, and would not even exist if I hadn’t.

His father was my Coup de Foudre, the loss of which will live with me forever.

I hope to believe that Mary might have been so fortunate.