family Christmas

I know I am not alone when I look back to my childhood and remember the seasons clearly defined, not just by weather, but by the produce and products available in the shops. But now hot cross buns are on sale at Christmas, and mincemeat and Christmas puddings reach the supermarket shelves at August Bank Holiday.

As I remember it, in our house, although we didn’t really celebrate them all, there was a clear progression from Hallowe’en to Guy Fawkes Night to Remembrance Day. Then there was a bit of a lull, as Christmas wasn’t to be mentioned until December.
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broken

I’m pretty sure there’s no bus service that calls at the local supermarket, so I’m not sure why there is a bus shelter in middle of the car park. Perhaps it’s a trolley shed, though I don’t know why they’d need to be kept protected from the elements – especially as any that stay out after hours are most likely to be found wandering at the uttermost extremes of the car park, not tidily lodged for the night.

Whatever it is, though, bus shelter, trolley shed or something else entirely, where there are perspex walls, there is likely to be vandalism, so I was unsurprised to find one of the panels shattered when I was out on an early morning walk recently.
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fruits of the earth

Autumn means different things to different people.

Summer is over and the sun has lost its strength, so every warm day seems like borrowed time and the chance to step out into the sunshine must be snatched whenever possible. Even in the twenty-first century, there’s still a feeling of Harvest Home: a desire to gather in and stock up, ready to weather the long winter ahead.
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let’s not talk about it

I’ve mentioned before that, despite the restrictions to normal life, I’ve been doing quite a lot of travelling on public transport recently. I’ve waited quietly at the station, keeping as far away as possible from other travellers and felt very much like Dick Turpin about to waylay a stagecoach or a highwayman about to hold up the mailtrain as I’ve pulled my mask over my face when the train approaches.

I don’t particularly like wearing a face mask, but I think it probably makes sense to do so, not just because it’s a legal requirement.
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great oaks

They say great oaks from little acorns grow. Certainly the acorns I saw on my walk yesterday have triggered a chain of thought, which I think is likely to result in a a blog post of some length.

First of all, the first time I tried to translate that gem of traditional English wisdom into Spanish, I was met with blank stares.

Apparently, what I thought of as an acorn – una bellota – was never going to grow up into an oak tree – un roble. It was going to grow into an encina, which is a holm oak and, it seems, to those who raise livestock on the Spanish dehesa, that’s a pig of a very different colour.
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