Boxing Day is just Christmas day afternoon writ large. Actually, my Boxing Day is almost entirely afternoon as I get up at noon. A new late for me.
Am worrying about that possibility of a cataract by the stairs. Oh, well, I’ll find out tomorrow.
In the evening I finally catch up with Amelie (which I gave Sara for Christmas), which is as lovely as everyone says.
I try to upload this stuff, but can’t remember the passwords. I realise that I should have thought of that before I came out but I had vigorous moistness to deal with.
There’s not much to Boxing Day. There never is. Coming up is the Wierd Dead Period between now and New Year’s Eve. And fresh catastrophes. They keep life interesting.