I forgot to pack Rupert ...

... so I've no photos to show you of our seasonal festive feast.
You'll just have to believe me when I tell you the duck crisped and crackled up a treat. The pieces looked lovely on their beds of tiny lentils with just a ball or 2 of the pickled pear (which was declared piquant and delicious).
Mr Brown was given a blood pressure self testing machine (backstory, my dad has one and the first thing Mr Brown does upon walking in the door of my parents' place is say hello, then he pulls out the machine and tests his blood pressure, then he brags about his fabulous blood pressure). I think he must have used it 16 times in 10 minutes, we made him wear it and self test throughout his consumption of the lion's share of the tiramisu. There's a photo of that on mum's dainty wee camera, don't forget to email it Ma!
We went to the Maianbar carols again for some traditional seasonal folk tunes, we ate too much, several times over. We exchanged a few, well chosen gifts, but did not go overboard in a disgusting display of over-consumerism. Except for the uncomfortable (read fucking painful) trip there and back it was all most wonderful indeed.
Mr Brown and I exchanged boxes - mine will keep pens in it and his will keep his cufflinks safe from thieving, velvet grey paws.
My dad dug out his old fountain pen, a Parker 51 Aerometric, and gave it to me. Apparently when his was a "flash young man" some 50 or so years ago, he liked to sign with a fountain pen.
That's been my little task for the last day or so, flushing crusted, 50-year-old, peacock blue ink out of the pen's bladder. THAT I have pictures of!
I've also got pictures of Tigger playing with the toy her grandparents gave her and Ping. Ping's not so keen but Tigger thinks it's the bees knees. Pictures of that too! It is, afterall, time to return to my more traditional mad-cat-lady blogging.