outwait outrun outwit


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It's been mental in the pub. Long nights of punters spilling drinks and hiding glasses in the toilets and nooks and hedgerows. Glass and chicken wings on the floor. We finish with pizza and drinks and drop into bed at 5am and the day starts at dusk, with another long night ahead of us. This afternoon is mild—too mild, the solitary midwinter bee, lazing at the window—and I walk out with our new puppy, 5 months old, to Des's, where we have an Irish lunch, Christmas cake and whiskey-spiked coffee, teaching Sam how to fetch a ball he has ferreted from under a shed. Hope ye are having a wonderful Christmas. xx


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