Young Sam, Eldest of the (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys informs me, excitedly, that he is now writing a blog. Just like me.
Every week his teacher gives him (and presumably
the rest of the class) the subject matter for their weekly blog. I tell my grandson that there are times when I really, really wish someone, not necessarily a teacher, would present me with the topic for that day's Daily Blog. Those are the days, like yesterday,
when I feel so tired that I convince myself nobody will miss me too much if I, like, skip a day. Lots of people, after all, are quick to tell me that while they appreciate my random ramblings - "I don't read it every day!" As if the Daily Blog is a Guilty
Pleasure like daytime television which nobody admits to watching in case others think they don't have a life to live.
Strangely enough, if I have in my head exactly what I am going to blog about, then it doesn't
matter how tired I feel. The very act of writing will wake me up, sharpen my senses and bring me cheer. It's on those days when I haven't thought of anything to write about and I'm feeling tired that I need Sam's teacher to set me to rights.
Mr B is firm in his belief that most of my daily activities are undertaken with the sole purpose of generating material for that day's Blog. Today, he says, is a Case In Point. As he speaks, I am spreading over our dining room
table a plastic party tea cloth, relic from a grandchild's birthday party, in preparation for the next instalment of Making Christmas. This time, I tell a reluctant Mr B, he is going to be fully involved in the Christmas Production Line.
He is not exactly demonstrating much enthusiasm. This may be because I have made him move all his possessions off the table - including his newspaper, specs, TV remote controls, mug of cold coffee and box of tissues - so that
I can spread the party cloth over it. Or, possibly, he has been looking forward to watching the Brazilian Grand Prix. Santa is probably having similar trouble up at the North Pole with the motor racing fans among his elves. And, let's face it, Making Christmas
is a far more serious business up there in Santaland.
We are making Christmas baubles, I tell Mr B, in my very best Blue Peter manner. This year our grandchildren will receive homemade tree decorations from
us, which they will absolutely love (I cross all my fingers as I make this rash assertion.) Mr B suggests that it is not a good idea to make breakable baubles for Faris and The Twinkles. He may, I concede, have a point. Mr B seeks to push home his advantage
- why don't we just go down to Haskins Garden Centre, as per usual, where we will be Spoilt for Choice On The Bauble Front?
Too late! I declare. Have I not already sent off for a bauble making kit which arrived
just a matter of days ago? Am I not well versed in the Bauble Manufacturing Process having attended the Lovely Linda's craft class? It's going to be SUCH fun! I assure him. Mr B says we shall see.
the magical properties of hot water on shrink wrap, wielding my new tongs (specially bought for the process) with what I hope looks like consummate ease. Mr B appears mildly impressed. He is not too keen on fiddling about with sequins (I gave him the choice
of red, blue and silver) and crafting pins and I can't say I blame him as I discover I have bought much tinier, more fiddly sequins than those I used under Linda's careful tutelage. I don't, of course, admit this to Mr B, only to myself. He does (kind of)
enjoy the gluing and the sprinkling of glitter though I had forgotten, when I came up with this idea for passing a pleasant afternoon together that he hates getting his hands messy. What with the glue, the glitter, the shrink wrap and the sequins, it's presented
him with something of a Crafty Challenge.
Our first two baubles are finished. I am rather proud of them. Mr B gives them a qualified seal of approval though I can tell he is still hankering after a
trip to Haskins, having worked out (Maths being Mr B's strongest subject) that we have a few more afternoons ahead of us, deep in glue and glitter, before we have enough baubles for all our grandchildren.
of course, am well satisfied. After all, today's Daily Blog will more or less write itself.
Young Sam the Story-teller (and - possibly - his teacher) would be proud of me.