Christmas Eve

"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house; Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."* I love Christmas Eve. Possibly more than Christmas Day itself.

As a child and teenager I would always save all my wrapping for Christmas Eve and do it in front of something Christmassy on the television, or on my parents bed, enjoying the low afternoon sun streaming through the windows. We would visit friends and drop off last minute gifts, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas as we went. We'd walk to the butcher's shop to collect the turkey, and we'd always have homemade sausage rolls for tea. And it was all topped off with a Christmas carol service. It's possible that I've blended the memories of many Christmas Eves, but I do always think of it as a positive day of low-key anticipation.

Things were a bit different in my late-teen and early adult years, with Christmas Eves often being spent working at supermarket checkouts dealing with customers who were angry at you personally that there was no cream left in the fridges for them to buy the day before Christmas. And the year I got to take the Christmas decorations at the supermarket down on Christmas Eve was a bit of a low point, but has mostly been forgotten now. I do have many happy memories of Christmas Eve cinema trips to see the Lord of the Rings films with my brother, which must have been from around the same time (and we'd always get home to the welcoming smell of those homemade sausage rolls).

Now, as an adult and a parent, Christmas Eve has come into its own again. We've seen friends this morning, and are now home for some last minute mince pie baking, and I'll be reinstating that sausage roll tradition later this evening. Stockings will be hung and the children are excited. The present wrapping was finished last night, so I'm hoping for an hour or two of festive knitting and stories this evening once the kids are in bed (earlier than usual in anticipation of Santa; I can wish). A happy day.

I saw this book in Sainsbury's and could not resist - Enid Blyton was my favourite author for a long time when I was small. And the sock knitting is very festive. I have one sock done but ran out of time for sock two; it doesn't really matter, I can enjoy knitting the second over the 12 days of Christmas

I finally got round to making my own stitch markers!

Merry Christmas everyone!

*The opening lines of A Visit From St Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore.