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Austere but festive. Common knowledge that this is how I love my carols. Prim vowels, medieval lyrics, and descants which make your heart soar up the the (high, gothic, fan-vaulted for preference) ceiling.

Other brilliant festivities (on similar themes) include:

Christmas dinner at Johns:

Ah, high wooden ceilings.

And I even kept my lust for crested crockery under control. Just.

Another wonderful thing which has compensated for coursework and cold and earache is, I warn you now, a smug little moment. I was flattered, flattered and fluttery and happy and speechless and silly to recieve these:

*Flowers?* In winter? And they smell like bottled June.

The last time I was given flowers romantically was February 2007, and I treasured them and dried the petals and kept the petals for two years. I love getting flowers, and they are the one thing I would splash out on if I were rich. It still wasn’t as romantic a gift as the lightbulbs though. How to woo a lighting designer’s daughter? Bring her replacement lightbulbs in the correct fitting and wattage.

There are also commoner ways to stave off blues:

Gorgeous tea-sets from 1810.

Delicious warming things to drink long and slow with friends.

And finally, gorgeous teas, plundered from here, and here, the latter being my newbestfavourite way to spend all the money I simply DO. NOT. HAVE.

Seriously. Peach flavouring and puns, was ever anything more satisfying?

I made dinner last night, and I had been craving clean food all day. Haphazard Moroccan Lentils (lentils, lemon, paprika, chili, oregano, onions, garlic, salt, pepper); tomatoes with garlic and oil; spinach and feta with balsamic, cous-cous, carrots with ginger and lemon, and a peach cake for pudding. I do love proper food, and tonights inevitable cheese on toast is not gearing up to be a highlight.

Needs must though, and goodness knows I am the worst procrastinator ever. Except the wonderful person who decorated our house like some sort of magic elf: amazing.