Mmmm, smell that!

What a miserable wet and dark day it is, and cold too.  The poor ponies in my paddock stand gloomy under the oak tree and from time to time take a slow canter to the fence in hopes of their daily apples, their hooves squelching as if they're running through thick custard.  One little dapple grey who's been served more times this year than we've had sunny days is still 'bulling' so as she's a brood mare it looks as tho she'll be going off to the great catfood factory in the sky before spring.

To cheer myself up a little I've made a small batch of mincemeat ready for the X word - tho I refuse to say it before mid November at the earliest.  I trundled off to Oswestry in the downpour to get the ingredients but forgot to buy some brandy.  Once the weighing in began, my husband asked, foolish foolish man, if he could help - something he never asks when spuds have to be peeled or cabbage shredded.  This time of asking came opportunely for me to say yes, of course, please add ¼ pint of brandy.  We don't have any, said the innocent.  Oh we do, sez I, see just there?  WOT, my calvados???  Is it or isn't it brandy?

I bet he won't ask tomorrow when the Xword cakes are made, but the rest of his calvados will be going in just the same <evil grin>

Come Xword time, he'll tell all and sundry that 'we' made the mincemat and cakes and he'll sniff appreciatively and entirely forget that once he'd poured the hooch he sulked off upstairs to play something written by an extinct southern American black guy entitled 'Ah wish mah wuman would leave me and leave ma hooch alone' blues.