Christmas is a time of tradition. But tradition is a fluid thing.
For a while there was the tradition of Dad finding waifs and strays on Christmas Day and bringing them back for lunch—but that petered out after couple of real odd balls….
Christmas is a time of tradition. But tradition is a fluid thing.
For a while there was the tradition of Dad finding waifs and strays on Christmas Day and bringing them back for lunch—but that petered out after couple of real odd balls….
It’s round this time of year that my mother is in the midst of a fruit-induced madness. It starts with raspberries, then strawberries, then redcurrants…then just as it’s beginning to wane, it’s the blackcurrants, blackberries, then apples……
There isn’t anything that says “I love you Mum” more than a box of ludicrously tricky sweets.
Anyone can phone up Interflora, or ping over a Moonpig card. Sacrificing your Saturday afternoon to fiddle about with meringue is love indeed though….