Whatever that means
It’s like everything is conspiring to tell me to just pack it all in for the rest of the year and put my feet up. There’s the ongoing saga of the cold that will not shift, the bridge being closed, the office boiler being condemned and today, when Mel in the office was running round first thing switching on all the temporary heaters, the main fuse blew, taking out all the computers, servers, phones, heaters and, of course, the kettle.
So we sat around for a bit and then everyone went home apart from a few who waited and chatted until Mel’s dad, an electrician, turned up to fix it. By this time, I’d cancelled my afternoon meeting so when the servers came online I just took the data I needed and headed home, where all appliances function.
Anyway, the tree’s done. On Sunday, I cut little slices of wood and Ellen painted them then we stapled on some bits of holly and put up some lights. Looks very nice in the dark.
The bacon is also ready, although it’s as salty as hell. Maybe I used too much or maybe that’s just how it is. I’ve got four pieces so I’ve soaked one in water for a couple of hours and it’s much less salty. I’ll leave the others in the fridge in the brew shed until I need them and do the same to them.