Log fires, walks cross-country, sometimes in the rain, sometimes in snow, mostly under dry grey or sun-peeking-through skies.
Beetroot soup - beetroots, and other veg, from the allotment. Spuds holding up, though we'll soon eat the last, blight having taken half.
Glasses of wine and port, bottles of winter beer. Though not pints in pubs. Miss the pubs - this season especially.
News on the radio and in the papers (on the breakfast table and online), the figures rising, the experts pressing, the politicians vacillating... The whole thing bleak.
Watching the 1960s Forsyte Saga on DVDs. Missed first time round - J because they didn't have a telly till half-way through the series, me because I wasn't allowed to (because of all the references to trusts and trying to stop relatives having access to their money, perhaps?).
Anyway, we now know what we missed. Outstanding. What a script. Witty. Moving. Compelling.
Loving my Christmas reading. Took me a while to decide. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë.
Missing T, all the time...