The husband and I came over all nostalgic this afternoon talking about Christmas. One of his strongest memories is of baling hay on the farm at the age of about 8. It was a couple of days before Christmas, the sun was high in the sky and the summer holidays stretched before him as a calendar of surfing, ice creams and mischief. Around Christmas I often remember sitting in our living room in the Scottish Highlands at 6 years old watching Cliff Richard in 'Summer Holiday'. The fire was blazing and I could smell the mince pies my mum was cooking. I couldn't stop imagining the white bearded one dusting off soot and carefully placing silvery papered boxes under our tinsel laden tree.
It's interesting that our happy memories are essentially the same - we were both at our family homes, both memories take place on about the 23rd December and they were both wrapped up in the wonder of anticipation and intense happiness.
ps lad took this photo of me before going for a walk
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