December 25th, 10.58
I woke up at around 8.30. My watch is broken again but it’s only the strap and time doesn’t stop because of a broken strap. Oh, no. Outside, a substantial blanket of frost made my first and maybe last Christmas in France a white one. I put on my big coat (thanks, Michael) and trainers (thanks, Karl) and walked down to the shed to take a photo of the field. This is something I have been doing every day for about a month. I wish I had been doing it every day since the day I arrived, because then it would actually mean something. Oh well. Never mind. I peed in the compost heap, came back indoors and built a fire. Then I had two cups of tea and a chocolate bar. Ho ho humbug.
This is not the first Christmas I have spent alone. I think it’s the third. Maybe the fourth. One year, in Liverpool, I ate a tin of Campbell’s meatballs for Christmas lunch. Out of the pan. This year I was planning to have cheese and bread, maybe crack open a tin of olives, but on Friday night, someone gave me an old trout.
This is my first Christmas without electricity.
I opened my presents around 09.45. Both of them. One is a collection of Tibetan Buddhist meditations and the other is a book of spells. My sister is a funny one. The book of spells contains this sentence: ‘Buy your lottery ticket on the right day for your star sign.’
Just after 10 I went for a ride on my bike and took some photos. It’s a lovely day. I rode up to the cemetery in Le Buis and played with one of the loose effigies that are lying about up there. I did think about bringing it home with me, but somehow it seemed wrong to steal a tiny metal Jesus from a corpse on Christmas Day.
Here are some photographs of fields.
Jesus looks extremely gay and flouncy when you take him down from his cross. I’d never noticed that before.
Now I’m going to cook my trout.
Have fun. Be happy. If you can’t be happy, fuck it. Give up.