CHRISTMAS’S LONG REMEMBERED

Sadly, my parents have gone now my Dad when I was only twenty one and my Mum 15 years later but they live on in my memories especially at Christmas.

I know that for many, Christmas is a nightmare time of year but for me I only have the very best memories of it and many of them.

My dad always said after he’d finished decorating the living room, the odour of emulsion still noticeable “there will be no drawing pins in this ceiling come Christmas”. Of course, come December the ceiling was covered with garlands, bells, stars, foil drops with baubles at the end, balloons, snow men, angels and Santa’s.

Picture were removed and replaced with something more festive, like huge stars or fresh holly and Strings were strung along the walls for the cards to hang on them.

In one corner on a table stood Santa Claus with his cotton wool beard and red crepe paper suit all the more exciting as we children knew he was stuffed full of sweets.

In another corner stood the tree, a tree of epic proportions so tall that the top 14 inches has to cut off in order to get the fairy on. Every branch was full to breaking point with countless baubles, parcels, bells, crackers and tinsels of every colour and beneath it the ever-growing pile of presents.   

With the decorations being my Dad’s field of expertise it was left to my mum to come into her own with everything else.

She would remove the curtains and nets and either replace them with clean or wash and return the originals.

Everything would get the spring clean treatment the sideboard would be adorned with the best linen runner and all the tables would have their own festive doily.

The fruit bowl was filled to overflowing with bananas, Satsuma’s or tangerines and another one of Brazil nuts, almonds, hazel nuts and walnuts.

There was even a Chamber pot decorated with sprigs of holly on the sideboard full of Christmas fare. Smaller bowls would appear over the Christmas period containing peanuts or dates or sugared almonds or chocolate raisins. 

Come the day itself presents were placed by the chair that the recipients were sitting in, when we were younger obviously our presents mysteriously arrived at the foot of the bed in a pillowcase left for the purpose but as we got older, we joined the adults for present opening. 

Mums’ gifts were always piled so high she always had to sit on the sofa in order to fit all her presents on the seat next to her.

She always still had half of them left to open long after the rest of us had finished.

This was the time for us younger family members to examine our gifts more closely while my dad would sit smiling sagely in his chair puffing on his pipe. 

Uncanny Christmas Tales – (014) Things That Go Bump, Electrickery and Other Disasters

It was in the early hours of Christmas morning when I was awoken by a loud crash from the direction of the chimney breast, I looked around and my wife who is a very light sleeper hadn’t stirred.

Now given the time of the year and the time of night someone younger or more impressionable might have thought it was Father Christmas about his work in the chimney, however being a grizzled old cynic, I thought it more likely to be either a burglar or perhaps the wind blowing over my chimney or even subsidence, but not Santa.

I lay awake for about ten minutes trying to work out what the noise was and hearing no further noises I decided it must have been a dream and went back to sleep.

 

A few hours later I was awoken suddenly again, this time by three excitement crazed children dragging their sacks of presents behind them, one thing was for sure, there would be no return to sleep after this disturbance.

When the children had opened all their stocking presents, they rushed off downstairs for breakfast leaving a scene of utter devastation behind them.

 

After breakfast I went back upstairs and showered and then went into the bedroom to dress for the day.

On opening the wardrobe door, I discovered the source of the crash that had woken me up several hours earlier, the rail in the wardrobe had collapsed and all the clothes were in a heap at the bottom, lying on top of the shoes.

“So, it wasn’t a dream then” I said to myself.

Five minutes later and wearing a slightly creased shirt I made my way back downstairs to what sounded like bedlam.

 

The rest of the morning went according to plan; the children opened their main presents from under the tree and disappeared off to play with their favourites.

 

By twelve o’clock the dining table was laid complete with my late mother’s best tablecloth, Christmas napkins, party favours, best china, glassware, and the brand-new table centre, while emanating from the kitchen was the sound of steam rattling the saucepan lids together with the mouth-watering aroma of roasting Turkey.      

In the lounge my wife was holding court with myself and her parents looking on as she was opening the few presents that still remained.

I left the group to go and boil the kettle for a drink and as I entered the kitchen, I looked at the electric cooker and there was one ring lit with nothing on it, so I checked the other rings to make sure that the saucepan with the potatoes had heat under it, which it did.

So, I went to switch off the vacant ring only to discover it was already switched off.

Now there had been a little water spilled on the hob from where one of the pans had begun to boil over so I mopped up the spillage and using reverse psychology I turned the rogue ring on believing this would in fact turn it off, but it didn’t, it just tripped the breaker in the meter cupboard instead.

I went to the cupboard and reset the breaker and it tripped immediately, so then we decided to wait for ten minutes before we repeated the exercise, which ended with the same result.

It was decided that we could not use the cooker as it was just too dangerous, with my wife almost in tears I said, “it’s not the end of the world darling, and nobody died”.

So, with true Dunkirk spirit we made the best of a bad situation, as luck would have it the Turkey was cooked, as was the stuffing, pigs in blankets, and the Potatoes where boiled.

The remaining vegetables we were able to cook in the microwave and all we had to forgo were the roast potatoes and parsnips.

Now it wasn’t the most successful Christmas lunch we ever had but it could have been a lot worse.

“Bad things always come in three’s” I think we all thought it but equally we all refrained from saying it out loud.

 

The next day, Sunday, passed off without incident, for us anyway, my wife had to hit the stores in the Boxing Day sales to choose a new cooker.

 

It was late in the evening when, sitting down in front of the TV we saw the news for the first time that day and we heard the dreadful news about the Tsunami for the first time and even then, it didn’t even hint at just how big a tragedy it really was.         

Two hundred and fifty thousand dead in a heartbeat from Indonesia to Sri Lanka and beyond, and still counting.

 

We had our new cooker delivered on Thursday 30^th December and in total we were inconvenienced for five whole days, five days before normality was restored to our household.

Many of the survivors of the Tsunami would never have their lives fully restored to what they knew before Boxing Day.

 

So, in future I suggest you all count your blessing, and make the best of what you have because it’s a lot more than many.

 

Uncanny Christmas Tales – (006) The Silver Tinsel Tree

 

Being born in the late fifties I have few recollections of that austere decade, almost all of my earliest memories are from the brasher, brighter and less restrained sixties.

As a result my early memories of Christmas are of a bright and sparkly time when paper chains and the watery colours of paper stars, bells and balls were being replaced by foil and tinsel.

Hence the Silver Tinsel Christmas Tree, looking back it was a quite unspectacular specimen of a tree compared to what’s on offer nowadays, but we loved it.

It stood less than 5 feet tall with its fold down tinsel covered wire branches tipped with red beads to symbolise berries.

However by the time Dad had worked his not inconsiderable magic and covered it with every size, shape and shade of bauble, glass birds with feathered tails, lantern lights, strands of brightly coloured tinsel, chocolate treats and tiny crackers lain on the branches it was transformed and was absolutely stunning,

It was the only Christmas tree I ever knew until my teenage years came to an end when in the mid-seventies I suggested we have a real tree just for a change.

I would never have suggested it if I had realised that it would signal the death knell of the Silver Tinsel Tree as the following year it was replaced by a green plastic tree more akin to those of today.

After my Dad died a few years later the task of decorating the tree fell to me and I realised sadly that I hadn’t inherited his tree dressing skill and was never able to equal him.

I came close one year, in 1983 but I think in the end I merely flattered to deceive.

Thankfully the task has fallen to my wife for the past 29 years, she makes a far better fist of it than I ever could, whether she possesses the necessary skill to transform a Silver Tinsel Tree however we will never know.

Uncanny Christmas Tales – (018) An Ardennes Christmas

 

The next time you’re whining on about what a crap Christmas you had, because your mother in law over did it on the sherry and told everyone what she really thinks about you, or when your wife’s Uncle Stan spent Christmas afternoon asleep on the sofa breaking wind with monotonous regularity, or your brother’s new girlfriend, who kept hitting on your wife or your Gran who said “just a small dinner for me I don’t have much of an appetite” then spent the afternoon eating all the chocolate Brazils.

If this strikes a chord think again and spare a thought for the half a million or so men of the allied forces and six hundred thousand Germans who spent Christmas 1944 outside in the snow of the coldest winter in a generation in the Ardennes forest during the battle of the bulge.

Men like my father sheltering in foxholes scratched out of the frozen earth with no hot food or drink, unable to light fires for fear of giving their position away and regularly coming under enemy fire or being shelled, then once you’ve hewn out a decent sized foxhole and settled down into it out of the icy wind an order comes down the line for everyone to move out and you move a hundred yards or less and dig another hole.

Go and tell your petty gripes to that generation and see if you get any sympathy.

The Silver Tinsel Tree

Being born in the late fifties I have few recollections of that austere decade, almost all of my earliest memories are from the brasher, brighter and less restrained sixties.
As a result my early memories of Christmas are of a bright and sparkly time when paper chains and the watery colours of paper stars, bells and balls were being replaced by foil and tinsel.
Hence the Silver Tinsel Christmas Tree, looking back it was a quite unspectacular specimen of a tree compared to what’s on offer nowadays, but we loved it.
It stood less than 5 feet tall with its fold down tinsel covered wire branches tipped with red beads to symbolise berries.
However by the time Dad had worked his not inconsiderable magic and covered it with every size, shape and shade of bauble, glass birds with feathered tails, lantern lights, strands of brightly coloured tinsel, chocolate treats and tiny crackers lain on the branches it was transformed and was absolutely stunning,
It was the only tree I ever knew until my teenage years came to an end when in the mid-seventies I suggested we have a real tree just for a change.
I would never have suggested it if I had realised that it would signal the death knell of the Silver Tinsel Tree as the following year it was replaced by a green plastic tree more akin to those of today.
After my Dad died a few years later the task of decorating the tree fell to me I realised sadly that I hadn’t inherited his tree dressing skill and was never able to equal him.
I came close one year, in 1983 but I think in the end I merely flattered to deceive, the task has fallen to my wife for the past 24 years, she makes a far better fist of it then I ever could.
Whether she possesses the necessary skill to transform a Silver Tinsel Tree however we will never know.

The First Works Christmas Party

I left school when I was fifteen which was in the early seventies.
I was living in Stevenage, with my parents in a warden run block of sheltered accommodation for the elderly, my mother was the warden.
I attended the School nearby which I left in the May and I started my first three days later.
However In the November of that same year the family moved from one side of town to the other, the significance of this will become clear later in the story.
The house move didn’t affect my getting to and from work as the town had a good bus service, operating a flat fare service on circular routes.
So I still got the same bus as I did from the old address but from a different stop but the price was the same.
This also will prove significant later on.
As I said this was my first year at work and I had my first Christmas party to look forward to.
It was on the last day before we broke for the Christmas holiday and we had a little works party in the yard where a little Christmas cheer was imbibed and a drink or two were consumed.
Now I was only sixteen and I had only had very limited experience of alcohol and I got well and truly bladdered on whisky Mac, cider and something unpronounceable from Yugoslavia.
At the end of the afternoon one of my workmates gave me a lift into the town centre and from there I caught my usual bus.
In my drunken state I managed to climb the stairs to the top deck and the bus set off filled with Christmas shoppers and a drunken trainee grounds man.
I must have drifted off on the journey and I suddenly came to and looking out the window recognized a familiar site and I promptly got off the bus.
I headed off up the road in the direction of home wishing all and sundries a merry Christmas as I went.
I entered through the main doors to the flats and passed the Christmas tree in the foyer and headed straight for flat number one.
At the door I fumbled for my key and presented it to the lock, it wouldn’t fit.
I peered closely at it and it was definitely my door key so I tried to put it in the lock again, still it wouldn’t fit.
Suddenly the door opened and a stranger looked out at me
“Can I help?” she asked.
“Ah my name is Paul and I don’t live here anymore do I?”
The lady, who was the new warden, laughed and agreed with me that I no longer lived there.
So I wished her a happy Christmas and made my way back to the foyer were there was a public telephone with a large Perspex dome over it.
My intention was to phone for a taxi but rummaging in my pockets I discovered I had no money for the taxi or indeed a coin to make a phone call.
Then as I tried to duck under the Perspex hood I tripped over my own feet and fell into the Christmas tree which ended up on top of me.
The lady who now lived at no 1 heard the commotion and came to investigate and to my surprise thought it very amusing to find a drunken teenager wearing the Christmas tree.
“Oh dear” she said laughing.
Deeply apologetic I explained the circumstances of my predicament and the new warden phoned a taxi for me and even gave me the money for the fare.
That was real Christmas spirit and I have never forgotten her kindness and tolerance and try to keep that same spirit in my own heart at Christmas.

Mistletoe And Miracles

Mistletoe And Miracles (Part One)

It was Christmas Day at my parents’ house and it was heaving with all my happy semi intoxicated relatives, Mum and Dad, my kid brother, two older sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins.
And I’m glad they were happy even if I wasn’t.
I just wished they would take their happiness elsewhere I had no need of it.
Even if I was the reason the entire clan had assembled that day.
It was my mother’s idea to invite everyone to make Christmas noisy and happy and jolly to keep me distracted.
My mother was something of a force of nature so when she “invited” it was generally accepted to be an order, she meant well of course.
Christmas Dinner was tolerable enough, the jollity was blissfully muted when they had their mouths full of my mums excellent cooking.
But then as soon as the last spoonful of Christmas Pud had been consumed it all ramped up again.
Mum organized the girls in the kitchen and Dad got everyone else clearing away in preparation for an afternoon of fun.
I retreated to the hall and got my coat on the last thing I needed was fun.
“Where are you going Nick?” mum asked
“I just need to walk my dinner off” I replied patting my stomach
She nodded her understanding and knew it was nothing to do with needing a constitutional.
“Do you want some company?” she asked
“No mum I’ll be fine, I won’t be long”
“You’ll need your hat and scarf” she insisted and draped a scarf around my neck and pulled my woolen hat on my head.
Then she put a hand on each cheek and kissed me like she did when I was a boy.
I smiled a weak smile.
"You’ll need gloves as well" she said “its bitter cold out there”
Her voice cracked and she walked quickly back into the kitchen.
I wished for her sake I could hide my sadness, it had almost been as difficult a year for her as it had for me.
"I'll be fine mum," I said to myself "I just need time”
I braced myself as I opened the front door and then walked outside and saw it was still snowing.
I reached the end of the path and turned back to look at the Waterfield house where I had spent such a happy childhood.
It was midafternoon and it was already getting dark so I decided to stick to the main road until my eyes became accustomed.
It was years since I had seen a white Christmas, it was a shame I wasn’t in a better frame of mind to enjoy it.
Even in the semi darkness there was clear evidence the village children had been out in force.
There was no sign of them as the light began to fail they were probably lured back indoors with mugs of hot chocolate by their concerned families.
As I made my way up the hill towards St Jane’s church the snow started to fall harder.
I looked at the houses as I passed them with coloured lights resplendent and wondered at what sadness lurked in their homes and then I chastised myself for my self-pity.
It was just that I had had such high hopes for that Christmas, it had held so much promise.

I’d started a new job the previous February, I am an engineer by profession.
And as every other new hire I got the first day office tour, on this occasion conducted by my new boss Gary Ash.
After shaking hands with an indeterminate number of employees I began to understand what the Queen had to contend with.
“This is the procurement department” Gary said and half a dozen heads turned around to greet us and one smartly dressed young woman stepped out of a corner office.
“Ah Gina” Gary called “This is Nick Waterfield the new head of Engineering”
Gina reached out her hand and I took it
“Gina Davies” she said and that was that, she had me hook line and sinker, we had our first date that Friday and we were married just after Easter.
It was a whirlwind romance and we had our whole lives ahead of us and we made plans upon plans.
Of course what we never planned for was a drunk driver to cross the central reservation and hit her head on as she drove home the day before Halloween.
I should have been with her, we always drove home together but at the last minute I had to go to Aberdeen so she died alone.
I wished I’d been in the car with her, I wished I’d died with her then I wouldn’t have felt so shit.

Mistletoe And Miracles (Part Two)

The snow was falling fast and the wind was blowing it straight at me so discretion being the better part of valour, I decided to take refuge in the Church of Saint Jane Frances de Chantal.
I hadn’t set foot in a church since the funeral, God and I had not been on speaking terms since he took Gina.
I didn’t plan to go in I just intended taking shelter in the porch until the snow eased off a bit, but the door suddenly opened.
"What on earth are you doing out here?" said a voice behind me
I turned around to see it was Charli Newcombe.
They had gone to school together and had even dated briefly on two separate occasions.
Once when they were still at school and again when he returned from university.
But it never seemed to happen for them.
“Hey Charli” he said "I was just out for a walk."
“In this?” she said
"So what are you really doing out here?"
“Trivial Pursuits” I replied
“What?”
“The family are all playing Trivial Pursuits, I didn’t really fancy it”
“I see”
"Anyway it’s Christmas Day” I retorted “Shouldn't you be at home watching The Sound of Music?”
"You’d think so wouldn’t you, My folks are both asleep in front of the TV and I had sole control of the remote, and I suddenly got the notion I should come and get the church ready for tomorrows service” even she seemed surprised by her answer.
Apart from running the general store and post office Charli was also the church warden.
Her late husband Tony had been the Vicar.
Charli was the same age as me give or take a month or two, I was thirty and she was a month short of that milestone.
And like me she was born and bred in the village.
She had married Tony shortly after he got the job as Vicar he was quite a few years older than her but she loved him to distraction, and you can’t argue with love.
She was devastated when he had a heart attack in the church and died.
That was shortly after he had performed the wedding ceremony for Gina and I.
I had seen a lot of her since I came back to stay with my parents in the village.
I suppose I sought her out because of our history together and I knew she would understand how it felt to lose someone.
And maybe help me come to terms with the grief.
We had talked it through endlessly and had burnt the midnight oil many times.
And some of the old feelings I had for her had come to the surface, for which I felt immensely guilty and disloyal to Gina’s memory.
“You look like you could do with a hot drink," she said opening the door
"No I won’t come in thanks" I said
"It’s Christmas, you could call a truce for the sake of the day at least”
"Ok" I relented and hesitantly followed her into the church.
The most overwhelming feeling washed over me.
It was one of great happiness as I remembered that wonderful day when Gina and I were married.
I would have expected to feel sorrow at the memory but it was pure joy I felt and immense pride.
I took off my hat, scarf and gloves and I know it will sound silly but the moment I crossed the threshold into the sanctuary of the church I’d felt a weight lift from me.
Charli had gone into a side room and switched on the light but I found I was walking down the aisle towards the altar where I paused briefly before an effigy of the saint and then sat down on the front pew.

Mistletoe And Miracles (Part Three)

When I got up from the front pew I found all the anger and resentment had washed away I felt more positive than I had in weeks and I felt I could even look forward.
I stood up and smiled at St Jane and went in search of the drink I was offered.
I found Charli in the little kitchen sat at a small table and she looked up at me and smiled and as I walked in I returned her smile.
"Is this mine?" I asked pointing at a mug by the kettle
"Yes" she replied "but I’ll make you a fresh one”
“No this will be fine” I said and took a sip “urgh”
“I told you” Charli said laughing
“How long was I sitting out there?” I asked her
She checked her watch
“About forty minutes”
“I’m sorry” I said “it only seemed like two or three”
“So how do you feel?” she enquired
“Surprisingly good” I replied and sat down “St Jane was very helpful”
“Yes she is isn’t she” Charli said as she re-boiled the kettle
“I’m still angry that I didn’t get to say goodbye to her” I admitted
“I know that feeling” Charli retorted
“We had such a short time together, we should have had decades, and instead we only had months”
And then I surprised myself when I smiled at her and added
“But those months were so special and so filled with joy that the time we had together was priceless”
“Amen to that” Charli said
“Which is precisely what you’ve been telling me all these weeks” I confessed
“Uh huh” she responded and we sat and drank our coffee in a comfortable silence.
Charli’s flicked her eyes upwards and caused me to do the same and I saw the mistletoe hanging above the table then she leant across the table and kissed me.
After the kiss it was me who broke the silence
"So do you have someone special in your life?”
"Do you mean a boyfriend?” she replied
"Yes" I said
"I was kind of hoping you might want the job” Charli said
“I think I would” I said and reached across the table and took hold of her hand.
“If you’ll have me”
She leant across the table and kissed me again this time it was a long lingering sensual kiss.
“Are we allowed to do that in church?” I asked
“Only on Christmas Day” she replied and kissed me again.

She locked up the Church and we stepped out from the shelter of the porch and the snow had abated but it was still falling and I smiled as it accumulated on top of her hat.
I offered her my hand which she accepted gladly and then I walked her home hand in hand through the snow.

Her parents’ house was only two doors down from mine so walking her home wasn’t out of the way not that it would have made any difference if she had lived on the other side of the village.
We stopped by the front gate and stood facing each other and I leant in and kissed her, her response was immediate and yielding.
It was a long purposeful kiss full of tenderness and hope for the future.
When I reluctantly broke away I said
“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“Yes” Charli replied and went up the path, pausing at the door to turn and wave before she went inside.

“Are you alright dear?” Mum asked with concern
“Yes” I said and smiled “I rather think I am”
And the effect on her was instant as the worry and anxiety melted away and she looked five years younger in an instant.
“I’m so glad” she said and rushed forward to hug me.

I have to admit I have given a good deal of reflective thought about exactly what happened that snowy Christmas Day afternoon.
Was it coincidence that I chose to walk in the direction of St Jane’s Church, or that I needed to take shelter precisely as I passed its sanctuary, or that Charli would open the door to leave just as I stood sheltering beneath the porch?
And what possessed her to leave the warmth and comfort of her parent’s cozy fireside on Christmas Day to tidy a cold and draughty Church.
I know what I believe and as to what transpired between me and the Saint as I sat on that Church pew is between me, St Jane and God.

Things That Go Bump, Electrickery and Other Disasters

It was in the early hours of Christmas morning when I was awoken by a loud crash from the direction of the chimney breast.
I look around and my wife who is a very light sleeper hadn’t stirred.
Now given the time of the year and the time of night someone younger or more impressionable might have thought it was Father Christmas about his work in the chimney.
However being a grizzled old cynic I thought it more likely to be either a burglar or perhaps the wind blowing over my chimney or even subsidence.
I lay awake for about ten minutes trying to work out what the noise was and hearing no further noises I decided it must have been a dream and went back to sleep.

A few hours later awoken suddenly again this time by three excitement crazed children dragging their sacks of presents behind them on thing was for sure there would be no return to sleep after this disturbance.
When the children had opened all their stocking presents they rushed off downstairs for breakfast leaving a scene of devastation behind them.

After breakfast I went back upstairs and showered and then went into the bedroom to dress for the day.
On opening the wardrobe door I discovered the source of the crash that had woken me up several hours earlier.
The rail in the wardrobe had collapsed and all the clothes were in a heap at the bottom on top of the shoes.
“So it wasn’t a dream then” I said to myself.
Five minutes later and wearing a slightly creased shirt I made my way back downstairs to what sounded like bedlam.

The rest of the morning went according to plan; the children opened their main presents from under the tree and disappeared off to play with their favourites.

By twelve o’clock the dining table was laid complete with my late mother’s best table cloth, Christmas napkins, party favours, best china, glassware and the brand new table centre while emanating from the kitchen was the sound of steam rattling the saucepan lids together with the mouth-watering aroma of roasting Turkey.
In the lounge my wife was holding court with myself and her parents looking on as she was opening the few presents that still remained.
I left the group to go and boil the kettle for a drink as I entered the kitchen I looked at the electric cooker and there was one ring lit with nothing on it so I checked the other rings to make sure that the saucepan with the potatoes had heat under it which it did.
So I went to switch off the vacant ring only to discover it was already switched off.
Now there had been a little water spilled on the hob from where one of the pans had begun to boil over so I mopped up the spillage and using reverse psychology I turned the rogue ring on believing this would in fact turn it off, it didn’t it just tripped the breaker in the meter cupboard instead.
I went to the cupboard and reset the breaker and it tripped immediately.
So then we decided to wait for ten minutes before we repeated the exercise which ended with the same result.
It was decided that we could not use the cooker as it was just too dangerous.
With my wife almost in tears I said “it’s not the end of the world darling, and nobody died”.
So with true Dunkirk spirit we made the best of a bad situation.
As luck would have it the Turkey was cooked as was the stuffing, sausages and the Potatoes where boiled.
The remaining vegetables we were able to cook in the microwave and all we had to forgo were the roast potatoes and parsnips.
Now it wasn’t the most successful Christmas lunch we ever had but it could have been a lot worse.
“Bad things always come in three’s” I think we all thought it but equally all refrained from saying it out loud.

The next day, Sunday, passed off without incident for us anyway, my wife had to hit the stores in the Boxing Day sales to choose a new cooker.

Its late in the evening when, sitting down in front of the TV we see the news for the first time that day and we here the dreadful news about the Tsunami for the first time and even then it didn’t even hint at just how big a tragedy it really was.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dead in a heartbeat from Indonesia to sir Lanka and beyond and still counting.

We had our new cooker delivered on Thursday 30th December we were inconvenienced for five whole days.
Five days before normality was restored to our household.
Many of The survivors of the Tsunami will never have their lives restored to what they knew before Boxing Day.

Count your blessing, and make the best of what you have because it’s a lot more than many.