blorg

You know how I'm frequently sentimental, but I also hate schmaltzy sanctimonious crap off the internet?

Case in point. Fuck off.

Anyone prefer me to make love to them instead of sending them cookies? Show of hands? Ah, alright, I'll stick with the baking, so. Be the light, my arse.

Having said that, I could have listened to that André Rieu version of Hallelujah with the opera singers ten times and wept through it each time today. God.

I survived the baking marathon. My wares sold out. I am tired and I owe myself a weekend, but I had a delicious Indian takeaway for dinner tonight.

Bodhi is cycling, finally and his father promises to start teaching him chords this week.

I'm feeling festive, and have holidays coming, so I can live without this weekend being entirely restful. Tomorrow night, Christmas cards.

I'm going to bed early.

Oh - also, I read Iain Banks' 'The Steep Road to Garbadale' this week and enjoyed it immensely - such bright, clever writing and characters. I went so far as to see if I could find his twitter to tell him so, then remembered with sadness that he died.