harold

First there was this (with lashings of rum and brandy). The beginnings of my first traditional Christmas cake.

Then there was this.

Which actually looks like this when you peek around the door.

And tonight, after the first of the Christmas books were read, after a medley of carols were sung, after lights out (and during the parental pause before final ticks were put against our To Do lists), we heard this being sung heartily and tunefully from his room:

Harold Bell, the angels sing,
Glory to the newborn King!

Harold Bell. Our newborn king. It must be Christmas.