It was Christmas Eve babe...

... in the drunk tank. An old man said to me “Won’t see another one.” And then he sang a song--The Rare Old Mountain Dew--I turned my face away and dreamed about you.

The above is a lyric to an old Pogues song that remains very popular here, I hear it all the time. It’s a tragic tale set to a lovely tune with beautiful harmonies--all the feels, as they say.

So. Joe and Carlos arrived today. I barely managed to get the house cleaned, the groceries purchased, a pot of soup made, presents wrapped. I picked them up downtown and we had a walk around St. George’s Market, which is always a fun place to take visitors. They had coffees and I had the most incredibly good cup of hot chocolate. I’ve been jonesing for hot chocolate for about a month now. David stopped buying milk since he got back from Italy. He watched a lot of documentaries in Italy about industrial agriculture and they make it clear dairy cows don’t make out any better than beef cows. So he’s been buying coconut milk, which is too sweet for hot chocolate. I usually have soy milk for cereal and haven’t bought dairy milk for a while, so David was the only milk buyer.

But I digress. Joe had a few oysters on the shell--raised in beds along the Ards peninsula. He said they were really good. Then explored St. Malachy’s Church, which looks like this:

Because Joe’s an architect, I like to show off a few of our treasures.

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