The old mayor is up and about early planting allium bulbs in the flower border in front of the church. ‘ Bonjour M’Ongoose ‘ he says breezily. Sophie wanders over to greet him and gets her ears scratched. She looks at the mayor with pleasure tinged with disappointment that he’s not carrying a supply of biscuits for moments like this. I ask after the old mayors wife. She’s had five hip operations , each one a little more desperate than the last. ‘Is the pain any better ?’ I add, although the answer to this is already obvious. The mayor is out at first light planting bulbs because his wife has had another ‘difficult’ night. He makes her breakfast then lets her doze in the arm chair by the fire. As soon as she’s asleep he’s out of the front door doing all the things he did during his 47 years as mayor. “ She doesn’t complain “ he replies. He smiles in a way that says there’s much more to tell, but not today. I like the old mayor.
The post lady stops to tell me she's taking the next two weeks off. ' There should be someone to cover the round while I'm away' . This said in a tone of voice that suggests we shouldn't expect any more post until well into the New Year. I pass this information onto 'The Font' who is waiting for a delivery of Lingonberries from a supplier in Norrkoping. Angus, who thinks Lingonberries taste like soap, will be able to survive a festive season without them.
And today a more modern Christmas Carol - # 17 :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-iOwh74mf0