Santa Spud

We've picked potatoes and Christmas is nearly here.  The ham is on its way and Bing is on the i-phone on repeat..and repeat.  "Dashing through the snow..".  The dreaded supermarket car park is like a game of chess for the boldest and bravest ready to make their move the minute you look into your rear vision mirror.  No more smiles, or waves of it's ok you can cut in, it's guns drawn and trolley's at dawn.  Customers once the slow browsers of the cheese aisle will happily push you face first into the fridge for the last selection of brie.  The faces of well used celebrities appear on boxes and packaging inviting you to share in their effortless wares with promises of shiny results and more time to sit around the telly...to watch them flogging more effortless stuff.  We'll be having spuds.  And lots of them.  Because they grew in our garden.  They didn't cost much and haven't traveled very far at all.  Nobody sponsored them, earned a living from talking about them, and they won't be carried out of a silver tray with the family sitting around looking marvelled.  But that's our Christmas and number one son is pretty proud of his efforts.  So I hope you have effortless one.  Merry Christmas