I am getting anxious about Christmas presents. I trudge round terrible Burgess Hill gazing at `Christmas Gift Ideas` with despair. The trouble is that I only ever want to buy the sort of things I want myself, such as bath stuff, chocolate and books. Also I am hopeless at wrapping things up and usually wheedle a nearby grand child to do it, but this year the Brighton family are decamping to India for a fortnight so will not be around. I am going up to my Newcastle family, so I have visions of myself stumbling along from St Pancras to Kings Cross with Bradley Wiggins`s lead getting tangled up in people`s luggage trolleys and me carrying badly wrapped unwieldy parcels. So today I am going on a hunt for what Joyce Grenfell used to call `useful and inexpensive gifts` of small proportions. And what are we all going to do about cards this year? Just send emails or ring people up and send the money to disaster funds? Perhaps.
Bradley Wiggins has done two clever things lately. I went to the Film Club in the Village hall last week and when I came back the TV was on very loud. He had sat on the remote and was on the sofa watching the ten oclock news. The week before he somehow managed to sit on the phone and ring someone up. What next I wonder,e mails?
At the Infants this week, Teacher was telling the children how to do nothing, meditating in other words. I have been thinking about it ever since.