“Mistletoe," said Luna dreamily, pointing at a large clump of white berries placed almost over Harry's head.

He jumped out from under it. "Good thinking," said Luna seriously. "It's often infested with nargles.”

I won't insult you by telling you where that quote comes from...

All I will say is 'May your mistletoe not be infected with nargles!"

And my dream of a white Christmas is just that - a dream. Christmas here is mud coloured. I've just spent an hour washing Poppy's legs, drying them and coating them with Vaseline in the vain hope that the mud won't stick. Her Christmas treat.

A Caroline's weird thought association alert:

Possibly the crassest Christmas song in the ever ever.

Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.

...especially if you have horses. By the way, I'm not complaining because I love it - but it IS hard work sometimes. Perhaps Sinclair Lewis was complaining? He'd be complaining all the more if he knew I hadn't heard of him AND he won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1930...

Back to the horses. Lately we've had all the weather winter could throw at us except heavy snow (which I won't write too loudly. You never know who might be listening.)

For a start, at 7 a.m. when I arrive at the yard - it's dark.

We've had howling gales and slashing rain. This translates into...the sand school's a lake, there's lots of mud, and frisky horses with sodden rugs to change. And riding's not much fun.

Storm horse by Zeelis Tech of Android Zoom

 We've had icy conditions - which means frozen windscreen, frozen fingers and toes, head collars with rigor mortis, frozen drinking troughs, treacherous roads. And riding's not much fun.

Ice horse by Cisco of Queeky

And today...we have sunshine.

And riding was a great deal of fun.