Boxing Day: the sky is (was!) a postcard pink and the tide is high. After all the run-up to Christmas, it's like a wave has washed over us and we now watch it recede into the distance.

We bought enough food to last a fortnight and then were not well enough to do it justice. Yesterday's turkey was without the trimmings. In the fridge, unopened packets of chipolatas, green and smoked bacon and sausage meat for the stuffing that we did not make jostle with the untouched cans and bottles bought in for a festive celebration. We saw no one all day although we spent time talking on the phone to each member of our families, wishing them a merry Christmas and comparing notes on the contents of feverishly wrapped gifts.

Not wanting to share our coughs and colds, we confined ourselves to watching hours of TV and that had the desired soporific effect. Today, we are not much better: still coughing and spluttering.  However, we must rally ourselves to join the fun at the Yacht club - and to wish everyone a happy New Year.

This poem was written several days ago. Not sure where the opening line came from now. I think I'd heard yet another lie slip past the lips of someone who really ought to know better.

Truth

Truth is an ally
Treat it as a friend
No matter
How much you lie
Truth’s revealed
In the end

It need not
Be uttered
No need to shout
When put under
The spotlight  
Truth will out