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Saturday, 24 December 2016
I've been given the temporary use of a Time Machine, and I've set the dial to 8 am on the morning of December 25th 1952. I'm to be set down in Vicarage Rd, Lingfield, Surrey.
I am now 6 years old again, and it's Christmas morning.
My sister and I have been awake for ages, and can't wait to open our presents. We delve into our pillow cases hanging at the base of our beds. We pull out small presents; chocolates, licorice, pens, and a pair of gloves each.
Breakfast is consumed in haste, then we rush outside into the newly fallen snow to make snowmen.
At around 10.30 am we return to the house to open our 'pukka' presents that are under the big decorated tree in the Drawing Room. I recognise all the baubles from the previous year, and admire our ancient family Fairy. Small cake candles are lit on the tree, and we are in awe as we listen to the carol singing from the radio's BBC Home Service.
I unwrap Meccano, some more rails for my train, a metal trumpet, a scarf from an Aunt, a Rupert annual, plenty of sweets, and a set of pale blue Basildon Bond writing paper and envelopes.
There are bowls of Brazil Nuts, Almonds, and home-grown Hazel Nuts. A few left-over Black Sobranie cigarettes are witness to a recent cocktail party. There is a big sweet-filled Christmas cracker hanging from the ceiling. Everything, everywhere, has a festive look.
Lunch is at 1 pm precisely. The Turkey is huge, and the Plum Pudding is brought to the table with flames leaping to the ceiling. Later we eat pink and white Marshmallows, toasted in front of the Dining Room fire.
We move back to the Drawing Room to listen to The Queen on the radio, but I don't really pay much attention.
We eat Turkey sandwiches for supper; then, exhausted, to bed.
What a day it's been. All our wishes came true (plus some surprises), and another magical Christmas is over.
Mrs Belton will probably be there in the morning to help mother wash, polish, and put away all those special 'once-a-year' things; life is just about as good as it can be.
Out.of action …. X
Broke my right arm on Saturday so will be out of action for some time !!!!
1 week ago
The difference between an optimist and a pessimist, is that the optimist enjoys himself whilst waiting for the inevitable! I AM that optimist!
This is a daily, optimistic, 'photos and comments' blog. I make no judgements (only occasionally), just notes. If you wish to comment in any way at all, please feel free. Everything and everyone (except the obdurate and dictatorial) is very welcome.
I was born just south of London, but for the past 46 years I've lived in S W France. I am a painter by profession, and writer by desire. Lady Magnon and I live in an ancient cottage, in a tiny village, in perfectly tranquil countryside. We have a vegetable garden called 'Haddock's' (this may crop up from time to time), plenty of fruit trees, and a view that takes the breath away; we also have a Border Collie called Billy. I try to treat our planet with respect, and encourage others to do likewise (without preaching).
Contentment is a glass of red, a plate of charcuterie, and a slice of good country bread. Perfect!