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I was up early as I planned to get home before midday (was back by 11am as it happened) and excited to discover that Stoke City FC were staying at my hotel. I only saw one person from the football club (might have been a player as he was wearing a track suit- I have no idea as I am not interested enough in football) but they had a section of the breakfast room reserved for them. I wondered if they’d be excited to know that top podcast Richard Herring was in the same hotel.
Stoke lost 2-1 to Hull City after surrendering an early lead.
It was a hotel for losers. I am comfortable with that.
We went to the Christmas Fair in the next village where our horrible wine was waiting for its next guardian before being passed on at the next tombola. Our village identity has been ripped apart by our daughter going to school in another village and we now attend two Christmas fairs. One with people we know and one with the strange villagers who live 2 miles away and are very different to us. Their fete was packed, but partly because it was in a very small area of the tiny village green. It wasn’t big enough to have a fete on. The next village along is inhabited by idiots.
The kids got to meet Santa a second time and were just as overwhelmed and didn’t seem to twig that it might be a different man under the beard and costume. Again they like Santa in theory but feel uncomfortable or starstruck in person. Santa though is prepared to overlook Ernie’s naughtiness this year and almost certainly not bringing him coal. But there’s still time.
We went to wash our car again and again the machine at the local garage stopped working with us in it, but this time at the end of the cycle so I don’t think it was our fault. I had to reverse out. I told the woman at the till and then left before I could be told off, just in case it was my error.
The car was dirty again by the time we got home. It’s almost pointless cleaning it, but shame eventually kicks in.
