So, here’s my very own garret (sp?), complete with skylight. Goodness knows what the previous owners used the dark, airless box for before. My companion is a present from one of the mister’s aunties. In the tradition of all good aunties, she only visits when she is loaded with presents. She’s generally known as Aunty Christmas, and I’ll let your imagination do the rest of the work.
All the girls got one of these Santas, after we all admired Aunty Christmas’s own one. As I said to the mister ‘my silence was misinterpreted’. But we have got quite used to having the old fella around now, and he is a good companion all year round.
My eldest boy is now slightly taller than Santa and soon my youngest will be five. I’ll let your imagination do the rest of that work too.
Bloddy oath, how big is Santa? (I was expecting some kind of Little Women personality questionnair)
How did Aunty C manage to tote around those whopping big Old Fellas? Or did she post them…in coffin sized boxes?
Nice window!
I think, up in that garret, I seem to remember something about needing a bag of russet reds, them being apples. A whole half dozen of them, and some reading and writing.
That one line alone made me love Jo, and a pile of autumn apples always makes a secret place even more wondros, don’t you think?
How I wish my “U” key would work without me thumping it….
I love your garret. And I love Jo.
A garret? With a skylight? Shouldn’t that novel be finished by now?
And fifi, for me it’s the spacebar…
I suppose Santa is about double the size of your average elf.
Most of the keys on my keyboard are a bit sticky. And two of them are missing. But, you know, I’ve got a garret and a santa, so I can’t really complain.
The skylight only just got finished. And now I’ve got half my things up there and half down here. But, yeah, any day now.
‘I seem to remember something about needing a bag of russet reds, them being apples. A whole half dozen of them, and some reading and writing.’
And a rat to talk to. Called Scrabble, IIRC.
‘I seem to remember something about needing a bag of russet reds, them being apples. A whole half dozen of them, and some reading and writing.’
And a rat to talk to. Called Scrabble, IIRC.
I haven’t seen any rats so far. And if there is one, I will not be talking to it. Possibly I will give it a name, but it will not be scrabble.