Day Sixty

Furrgus. 

Well it is the first of December. 

We can now, without shame, throw ourselves into Christmas Time.

But our finely tuned schedule continues to fall into the realm of the whimsical.

Mrs. T did not go to her downtown office today, as she has a cold and does not wish to contaminate her colleagues.

Especially since their fabulous Gala is next week. 

So this enabled Miss Niamh to take the car to university for her full day of learning.

We waited around until we were sure that we were not needed then went on a rather late early morning walk about. 

As our stash of frozen croissants had somehow vanished, we wondered over to Little Victories for a couple of quick espressos and a croissant or two.

By the time we returned Mr. T was compus menti having spent the morning indulging himself in the complexities of Roman law.

Well to each their own I say. But really now, Roman Jurisprudence. My goodness.

Even his computer has documented his preoccupation with such obscurities.

One might think a introduction to home baking would perhaps be more productive. Ahh well. 

At lunchtime a courier brought a box with a present inside. 

As Miss Poppy would have said it was “A Secret Present” .

Which was actually fitting as it was a present from our Poppy for an unnamed family member. 

As executors of her estate were are fulfilling her last wishes, that in lieu of flowers her Merry Christmas list be completed. 

So having memorized the list we three are moving heaven and earth to complete it. 

Nearly half of it is done.

Upon realizing our responsibilities Dugal immediately promised to underwrite any possible shortfall in funds. 

After lunch the temperature had returned to the seasonal, but thick socks always keep us in fine fettle, so we went for a full reconnoiter of the neighbourhood.

The snow has entirely disappeared so we did not even have to wear our boots. 

Which, if the truth be told are not as stylish as their Italian origin may have led us to expect unfortunately.

At dinnertime Mr. and Mrs. T went up to the little pharmacy on Bank Street.

So that Mr. T could get his flu shot for ancients. Which all in all must be a good idea.

But we have received an unexpected and quite disturbing missive from our Emmet. 

A disappearance has been discovered. In the depths of Cork university’s library. 

Now that most certainly is a conundrum fit for a mystery novel I do say.

Perhaps a rival student attempting to undermine Emmet’s crucial research. 

Dugal has already sent a telegram to his mother at Dhùn Stadhainis, asking for permission to send out the Firey Cross.

So that he could summon the clan in preparation for an amphibious incursion, in support of our Emmet. 

Now Dugal has never been one to let an opportunity to focus the clan on the very reason for its existence let me tell you. 

Even if it means asking his mother and step-father for support for this particular endeavour.

Such are the responsibilities of the heir, unwilling though he may be.  

The complexities of families never fail to intimidate Festis and I. 

Which is why we have left cousin Morag in charge, at least until some memories fade. Ah well. 

It is Christmas time and at least three of the Blackthorn-Badgers will be together this year. 

Which is a drastic improvement over the last few decades I must say.

Miss Niamh went out for dinner so Mr. and Mrs. T had dinner by themselves before they started their mystery program.

We were all prepared for tonight’s Scrabble slog fest.