Cake coma

We're speeding across the Midlands  from Wales to my parents' house in Thaxted.

We stayed the night at Nathan's sister's last night and I insisted on sleeping with the window open to hear the noise of the wind buffeting the trees in the fields outside. It was such a romantic sound, which made me feel very safe and warm. The room we were sleeping in had an enormous window and we could see the stars from the bed. I almost didn't want to go to sleep, I was enjoying the experience so much.

By the time we'd had breakfast this morning it was past noon, and none of us could work out where the time had gone. We were on the road by  one o'clock. 

We stopped off at Fiona's parents' in Northampton and laughed a lot at their fancy leather sofas which reclined at the push of a button. We ate mince pies, cheese and Roses chocolates. I have no will power. Even when I'm full up, there's always something tastier to sample. I can feel my arteries slowly clogging up, and my body screaming for low fat foods. When we arrived, Fiona's partner, Paul was entering a cake-induced coma, which lasted for about half an hour. For the next few days I want nothing but soup to pass through my body. 

Brother Edward returns from Germany this evening and I'm very much looking forward to seeing him back at Till Towers in time for M's birthday tomorrow. 

Boxing Day, 1661, was a proper day of celebration. It couldn't have been more different in that respect from the muted shades of the day before. Pepys worked in the morning and then went for a walk with Sir William Penn and his son (the founder of Pennsylvania) in Moorfields. The weather was foul, so they headed to the nearest tavern for cake and ale. When they were stuffed to the gills, Pepys invited his servant boy, Wayneman, to eat the crumbs and was horrified when the poor boy, obviously misunderstanding the offer, ordered himself a couple of fresh cakes from the bar. I'd have thought Pepys might have let him off. It was Christmas, after all, but he resolved to tell him off at a later point. 

Whilst in the pub they played cards, ate turkey and we treated to some wassailing (or washeallbowle1ing). Now that sounds like a good old-fashioned 17th Century Christmas to me! 

"Here we come a wassailing among the leaves so green..."