Lockdown from Bridport - Part 2 - Day 24

Less than a month to go before Christmas Eve. With any luck I shall be sitting in front of a roaring fire with a bottle of chilled Bollinger, which I hasten I add, I have had since last Christmas. Such restraint, but really, there haven't been a lot of occasions for bubbly this year, although I know some folks that drink it with gay abandon. Come to think of it they are in 'my bubble'. Must get round there pronto before next Wednesday when I won't even be able to sit in their garden and quaff away, although I can go out for a meal with them, fact is I can't afford to. It's a rum do and no mistake!

Last night 'The Undertaker' packed me off to bed telling me I was talking gibberish. I was so tired I was beyond it. It wasn't long before the strains of the bagpipes wafted up the stairs followed by unmistakable sound of the French Foreign Legion (The march of  2e Regiment Etrangere de Parachutistes, I am told). Someone was making the most of being 'off call'. 

Today however dawned bright and warm, which always gives me strength. The 'big push' to take all the stock to the shop was in full swing. Where did it all come from? Within an hour the shop was chaos. Within five hours it resembled some sort of order. Gosh, its finally happening. All within three weeks.

The Christmas tree is up and twinkling happily in the inglenook fireplace, the recycled wardrobe reveals tantalizing glimpses of party dresses (we simply can't not put our best foot forward!) Just because this year the festivities will be strange, there is no excuse to be sloppy and dreary. We owe it to ourselves and our nearest and dearest to make it as jolly as possible. And of course we're all going to be participating in Zoom cocktail parties, right?

When drifting off in the bath I had visions of crisp, impeccably smooth, clean high count Egyptian cotton sheets and my head sinking into the plumpest of feather pillows. I heave myself painfully out of the water and wonder if I am hallucinating...