Last night we came well down the field in the pub quiz. Nevertheless, because it was Christmastime, we won a large box of Maltesers.
As we drove into the grounds at home three deer were caught in our headlights. 
They had clearly been chomping on the bergenia plants which bear evidence of constant nibbling. Every morning the path beside them bears fresh deer droppings. The startled animals took off to the far side of the garden, turned to face us, and stood as if, like rabbits, transfixed in the headlights. Then they were off. Gone. Were they the three I had seen on the morning of 6th? (see post) I wondered.
This morning, in an effort to break the back of our Christmas shopping – or maybe just our backs – we drove, on Shelly’s recommendation, to Bournemouth’s Castlepoint shopping centre. This, we had been reliably informed, was more user-friendly than the ghastly Southampton West Quay.
It most certainly was, and the parking was free. We knew we were in Dorset rather than Hampshire because even the road signing was clear and in good time.
A week or so ago, Louisa had posted on her Facebook page a photograph of five year old Jessica’s delightful letter to Father Christmas. 
Not having the slightest idea what it was that I was signing up to, I sent Louisa a message saying ‘sign me up for a mosh sheey monstys play haws’. This hadn’t been intended as a Christmas list for family and friends, rather a display of a wonderful snapshot of childhood. However, that is what it turned out to be, and one of Louisa’s friends, who did know what she was doing, has bought Jessica a moshi monsters play house. When Jackie and I were shopping for the girls I left Louisa a voicemail message asking for ideas about presents, saying we would take unilateral action if we didn’t have a reply in time. We were approaching the checkout when Louisa rang back, confirmed that the alternative present we had chosen was probably surplus to requirements, and suggested any moshi monster. These little creatures are apparently connected with a television programme. I got the job of returning the Peppa Pig to the Asda shelves. When I returned from this, Jackie was almost through the checkout. As she emerged she asked whether I had chosen anything else. I hadn’t, I explained, because I now knew our gift had to be a Moshi Monster. ‘They sell those here’, she said.
As Jackie took the rest of our purchases to the car I found a suitable monster and rejoined the queue waiting to pay. Because of problems with the till, and the young man using it, this one item took rather a long time to purchase.
This evening we drove to Thornhill for an excellent curry in Eastern Nights. We drank draft Cobra and Bangla.