Day Seventy Four

Festis 

We that was quite the soirée let me tell you.

We snuck out the side door to go on our midnight patrol rather early. 

As the boisterous party made it too difficult to hear our shuffleboard game. 

Craig and Zita, and all who wondered by, talked to Emmet on the computer. Wishing them a happy birthday too.

He will be back here within the week he told us. 

Everyone was here, as they say, all the regular suspects. 

And they all made short work of decorating the Christmas tree. 

Dugal was so happy to notice that the Scot’s angel once again surmounted the tree. 

Tradition has been honoured.

So we are now visually anyway getting Christmas under control. 

There was enough bread and cheese for a regimental wedding let me tell you. And bottles of wine. 

The ice cream cake, was as always a great success, but Niamh failed to blow out the candle on her first attempt.

Because she fell over laughing. Which rather paints the picture of the party. 

After the presents were handed out Craig decamped to the den to document the extravaganza. 

Then Miss Susan arrived to share in the festivities, being Niamh’s godmother and all. 

As you can imagine it was a rather late night and we were quite surprised when Zita and Niamh were up this morning.

Moments after we had finished our tea. 

But life must go on, even when you have reached twenty five.

So they were both off before we ventured out for the morning perusal of the neighbourhood. 

Again it was warmer here than Ireland or the Isles. 

So we only had to wear our warm socks today. 

As a consequence the trip to Landsdowne for brunch was just a pleasant bracing stroll. 

Though the weather chaps say that a notable snowstorm may be on the way here. 

Fortunately all the presents for Over There have been dispatched.

So we won’t be inconvenienced by being house bound for a day or two. 

When we returned home Craig had been awake for hours, if the number of coffee cups told the tale. 

But after having a close look at the weather forecast Dugal insisted that we stock up on pastries of various sizes and types.

He is terrified of having to have dry toast for breakfast, in the event of a prolonged hibernation. 

So the three of us convoyed ourselves up to Bank street and visited Ichiban, Little Victories and Bridgehead.

We returned replete with cheese buns, three types of croissants and a brace of banana muffins. 

They went straight into the little freezer in Zita’s office. 

Then and only then could Uncle Dugal relax. 

When we looked around we found Craig busy at the dining room table wrapping Christmas presents, some destined for shipping off to Toronto.

That activity and the stunning tree reminded us to write our Christmas cards to all the establishments near the castle. 

Though it pales in comparison to a pint or two with them, but with the legal situation as it is, discretion must make itself known unfortunately.

Late this afternoon Craig learned that his friend, the famous rapscallion Pat Doyle died last night. 

We made him some crunchy toast and a double espresso. 

Speaking from far too much unfortunate experience, it is no healthy to grieve on an empty stomach.

Fortunately we were here to commiserate. 

We put the Messiah on the stereo. It seemed the right thing to do, we settled back with ourselves for company. 

But his melancholy soon passed, as it is Christmas time after all, and who can be sad with an eggnog in your hand? 

Zita brought Niamh home for a moment but she took the car and went back to the university.

So Craig and Zita had a delicious omelette together and then went to watch a program about that crazy man Stirling.

He and Dugal were fast friends until Dugal was assigned to the Burma front. For unspecified misdemeanours. 

We all knew better than to ask. 

Though it was Churchill himself who got him far from Monty’s wrath.

The early dinner left the dining room table free for the resumption of the poker game. 

It is five card stud tonight I have been told.