Let the holidays begin ...

We spent the actual Christmas with Alex's folks and it was a quiet one with all the family present. Alex's grandmother did not make it to the table, however. She is 91 and has had a few set backs since the night of the election count last May when she fell down the stairs and escaped largely unhurt but clearly shaken. Since then, she has endured a minor stroke which has frozen her left arm. Then, another fall resulted in a fracture in her right arm. But she is still managing to smile and here's hoping that she is not in too much discomfort as she sleeps in her chair each night.
Before leaving the Piccadilly Line for the trip back to the Village it was amazing to see on the BBC weather, that it was 18 below in the Village over several nights - colder than Moscow in fact. We loaded up the car on Monday morning promising to call in on Pobol Y Cwm on our way back to the Piccadilly Line and headed for the ferry at Pembroke.

As I was walking Blue around the port before the crossing I got a call from BF in Florida. I stood in the gale force wind and torrential rain while I listened. She and husband had escaped in a three hour window of snow ploughed runway from Dublin airport a few days earlier and were reunited with their three daughters - one from NZ, another from Vancouver and the baby from Germany. They had been for a swim on Christmas day and were heading down to the Key West on the morrow. I heard all this as trickles of water ran down the back of my neck and I eyed the hulk of a ferry through my rain splattered specs. It's bound to be a rough crossing I was thinking and I was right.
In County Wexford, near the town of New Ross we checked in to a pet friendly hotel. Dogs are allowed in the room but not in the bar. So Alex and Blue stayed in the room while I adjourned to the bar with the Irish Independent where I enjoyed a lip smackingly good pint of Guinness and ordered some food for us.
The next morning, a little more than four hours after breakfast, we pulled up at the house in the Village. I was unpacking upstairs when the doorbell rang. It was Jeremy and Bojangles. They have sold their house and will be back in England before the end of January. Hurrah. I dare say Hilary will be over the moon. Bless.
We are happy to be here, far from the Piccadilly Line. There's food in the fridge, wine in the cellar, books on the shelf, broadband to surf, DVDs to enjoy, a TV in the corner, fuel for the fire and friends nearby. The winter break has well and truly begun.