Well, it looks like ‘ave gorra new ‘ome for me jottin’s.
It’ll be rate gud to be on internet and I reckon this is road forrard. Me jottin’s’ll be regular an’ I’ll be ‘appy to tell thee wharrave bin up to. Webby’ll no doubt mek appearances as will ‘is three legged dog, Cloughie. Mind, ‘e tode me last wik that if things carry on as they are ‘e might ‘ave t’ call it McClaren. I sed to ‘im, ode this ‘osses. It’s none even Christmas yet.
I like Christmas. I know a lot o’ folks that dunna an’ I can understand why. I mean. When thaz ‘ad it rammed down your throat sin’ September (in some cases August) tha’ can get cheesed off. But I’m one o’ these that, once calendar tonns to December, it’s Christmas.
We’ve alluz ‘ad a tree and decs and garlands and tinsel. I’ve made wreaths for front door and once built a sledge wi’ reindeer that went in front garden. We’ve bin on drives from town to town to show kids lights and we once went all road to Nottingham just t’ look at lights. They thought it were great.
Christmas Eve we’d put pillow cases up on mantel piece and leave a mince pie and sherry for Santa. Once kids were asleep wid get presents from bak o’wardrobe and wrap ’em, ‘elped by generous ‘elpins o’ Guinness, afore wid purrem in pillow cases. We alluz ‘ad chimney swept in November t’ ‘elp Santa and I’d alluz sprinkle a bit o’ soot on ‘earth t’ mek it look as if Santa ‘ad bin.
We alluz ‘ad a ‘ouseful on Christmas Day. Wid end up wi’ Grandma and Grandad, brothers and sisters and Peggy Baxter from next door. Gert cooked every Christmas an’ ‘er never got flustered.
Everybody knew if Gert sed one o clock you ‘ad t’ be there, at table, in your chair, at one o clock. We ‘ad a ‘ome made crackers wi’ present inside and a daft joke. Then, at the stroke o’ one, I’d carry turkey in and Gert’d foller wi’ veg. ‘om made Christmas puddin’ wi’ custard, not brandy sauce, ud foller. At three wid all settle down t’ watch Queen. Then Gert, Peggy an’ Grandma ud disappear inter kitchen and do washin’ up. I’d be tode t’ keep an eye on kids but y’could bet that we in ten minutes all men ud be asleep.
Then on Boxin’ Day it’d be everybody t’ Grandma’s for roast pork and more Christmas puddin’. Difference bein’ was that wid all guffer a walk while Grandma and Gert got dinner ready. After dinner games’d come out. Monopoly were favourite. We ‘ad Scrabble but as none in uz could spell it were a bit of a waste. On top o’ that Jack ‘ad a knack for comin’ up wi’ swear words.
This years goin’ t’ be different.Wi’ gooin up t’ Scarborough t’ stay at are Mary’s. She’s comin’ t’ fetch us next wick and we won’t be back ’til New Year. It’ll be fost time that wi’ ant bin at ‘ome for Christmas for forty years. I’m none rate fussed ‘cos I like me Christmas routine but it’lI be nice to see kiddies an’ aye a walk on beach Christmas Day. Mary’s shutting B & B for Christmas. Owes alluz oppened up for one o’ them Turkey and Tinsel jobs but this year she sed owe wants t’ be wi’ family, specially new grand son.
I reckon we all like a routine at Christmas, year on year. Same food, same time, same seat, same tele, same arguments… same faces. Same routine. ‘appen be time you read this we’ll be walkin’ round ‘arbour or sittin’ by Spa. Either road we’ll be wi’ family an’ that’s what matters.