Well. It's getting close to Christmas.
And to prove a point we went out and bought our tree today (won't put it up till tomorrow though).
I was warned by Anne, before we went, not to do what I usually do ... pick the runt of the litter. I've been accused in the past of taking pity on sparse, stunted and lop-sided specimens. So this year we've opted for a fully formed well adjusted tree.
It's sitting outside at the moment in the back garden - much to Fatso the cat's confusion.
Another way to tell it's nearly Christmas? Well, when I got back from my cycle today I had a piece of Christmas cake with my coffee - last years Christmas cake! Thirteen days till we can cut into a new cake and I've still not finished last years!
Anyway, the tree will get decked in lights and sparkly stuff tomorrow. And, I'm happy to say, my modest collection of Christmas jazz albums will be decanted from the dusty box that they stay in for 11 and a half months of the year. I never listen to my Christmas music until 12 days before Christmas. Why? I do not know. But I don't, and anyway 12 days is more than enough. I really feel sorry for people who work in shops and have been listening to Phil Specter's bloody Christmas album since October.
Two new ones to add to my collection this year. Including one by the blessed Ella - looking forward to listening to that.
One of the few vocalists that I have any time for. I've yet to hear anything that Ella sang that I didn't like - she could probably have sang the menu from a Chinese takeaway and made it sound good.
The UN should pass a resolution stating that on one day a year all your Madonnas and your Beyonces and your Lilly Allens and what nots should shut the f*** up and just listen to Ella for a day (especially Lilly Allen). They might actually learn a thing or two.