Wow.  It is quite some time since I posted a blog.  Where do the days go?  (My theory is that they are sucked into the open maw of a giant, time-eating worm, which hunkers just beneath the surface layer of reality, feeding on our very lives... He is called Cyril.)

In any case, I have filled the time with having a barely controlled stress-breakdown and with covering my house with reindeer.  Not real ones.  I was not allowed to bring real ones back with me from Keswick.  Damn and blast it.  I have had to settle for ornaments.

Unpacking the Christmas ornaments was an exercise in calling out 'Reindeer!  I'd forgotten about this one', but I still bought a load more in Keswick.  They are on the tree, on the light-up dead-twig tree (it's a thing - look it up.  I love me some dead trees.  So sculptural and artistic.  Tree nudes.)  There are reindeer on the window sills, hanging from the windows, along the sideboard.  I am especially pleased with my offering to the reindeer gods.

Reindeer are not limited to ornaments.  I would not be so daft as to miss out the chance to add to one of my favourite sorts of item: mugs.  A few more wouldn't go amiss, actually.  I only have four or five with reindeer on them.

All right, so there's a monkey, as well.  He is, however, one of those little monkeys which advertise tea, so that's fine.  He is the tea monkey and brings the slightly scary, greyhound-reindeer their drinks when they get thirsty.

Last, but not really least (there is no such thing as a 'least' with reindeer ornaments and so on.  Everything about reindeer season is excellent), I have finally purchased a jumper with reindeer on it.  I have had to scour the shop and buy a man's jumper, but it has the added bonus of not being made of the clingy kind of fabric which turns my hair into an approximation of a dandylion clock, so that's good, too.