Some notes about the Christmas feast
We were at the butcher shop, 18 days before Christmas, buying enough for this week’s meals and also a month’s supply of dog meat. Before he even knew what we wanted, Wayne the butcher asked – “How are you going for pet mince?” Since I’d just cooked the last one, this was most prescient of him. Then I spotted a leg of ham in the display cabinet. I nudged She Who Organises Almost Everything. “Have…
