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Yuletide gifts
Dec. 3rd, 2007 02:00 amEverything is so appallingly busy these days; it’s like the lyrics for that Cure song: "Monday you can fall apart, Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart, oh, Thursday doesn't even start."
Croquet says that he’s going to Barcelona for Christmas but I’m not entirely sure if he’s being serious since he’s claiming that he’s taking his entire security detail with him. I suspect that he may be going somewhere after I leave for merry Albion but being Croquet he’ll only ever be a phone call and a private jet away, though I really ought to get on with Yule presents in that case. What does Croquet need anyway? I really am beginning to wonder if he’s actually harder to shop for than my parents.
My mother wanted some sort of hand-kitted shawl that’s larger than a pashmina but isn’t a poncho and was possibly crocheted. My father may get port of some variety; I haven’t yet decided. Cecelia’s father might appreciate a bottle of Madeira for that lovely sauce he usually makes to compliment Boxing Day brunch and I’m rather tempted to see if I can procure some of those charming King Ludwig cigars for him too, which will of course necessitate keeping them away from Katherine first. Which leaves the requisite hamper, possibly a Daylesford Organic one, for Frau Hirschboeck since my parents will have the Fortnum’s affair anyway. Except I’m a little worried about the Daylesford one since the Jan Moir Telegraph review suggests that there’s something wrong with the quince products. At least this looks like the sort of thing that I can attach to a bottle of Pimm’s and give to Katherine, if she doesn’t already have one. And since I do suspect that my staff might not be entirely pleased with the Despair Inc. calendar; I suppose I’ll just have to settle for chocolate and tea packages for everyone.
Which brings me to the question of what I’d like, I suppose or perhaps rather more generally what I like; which at the moment is this, the Süleyman Mosque in Istanbul, though the old-style houses nearby are lovely too.
What I’m not so enthralled with at the current time is this Saint Agur Blue cheese; it’s simply far too soft for my liking.
Croquet says that he’s going to Barcelona for Christmas but I’m not entirely sure if he’s being serious since he’s claiming that he’s taking his entire security detail with him. I suspect that he may be going somewhere after I leave for merry Albion but being Croquet he’ll only ever be a phone call and a private jet away, though I really ought to get on with Yule presents in that case. What does Croquet need anyway? I really am beginning to wonder if he’s actually harder to shop for than my parents.
My mother wanted some sort of hand-kitted shawl that’s larger than a pashmina but isn’t a poncho and was possibly crocheted. My father may get port of some variety; I haven’t yet decided. Cecelia’s father might appreciate a bottle of Madeira for that lovely sauce he usually makes to compliment Boxing Day brunch and I’m rather tempted to see if I can procure some of those charming King Ludwig cigars for him too, which will of course necessitate keeping them away from Katherine first. Which leaves the requisite hamper, possibly a Daylesford Organic one, for Frau Hirschboeck since my parents will have the Fortnum’s affair anyway. Except I’m a little worried about the Daylesford one since the Jan Moir Telegraph review suggests that there’s something wrong with the quince products. At least this looks like the sort of thing that I can attach to a bottle of Pimm’s and give to Katherine, if she doesn’t already have one. And since I do suspect that my staff might not be entirely pleased with the Despair Inc. calendar; I suppose I’ll just have to settle for chocolate and tea packages for everyone.
Which brings me to the question of what I’d like, I suppose or perhaps rather more generally what I like; which at the moment is this, the Süleyman Mosque in Istanbul, though the old-style houses nearby are lovely too.
What I’m not so enthralled with at the current time is this Saint Agur Blue cheese; it’s simply far too soft for my liking.
