This December will be the first ever time that we’ve hosted Christmas dinner (well, in the UK … I think we did it once or twice when we lived in Switzerland but the memories are vague … too much glühwein). At the last count, there’s twelve of us in total, and you might be surprised to hear that I’m very relaxed about it all. For one good reason. I’m not doing the cooking. Nope. It’s not my responsibility. Paul’s taking full control and he has a timed-to-the-minute spreadsheet ready to go (alongside a note to buy gin and snacks in case it doesn’t quite go to plan).
As weird as it is wonderful and as eerie as it is beautiful, the village of Portmeirion is one of the strangest places I've ever visited. I felt as though I'd stumbled on to a film or TV set ... horror, Miss Marple, period drama, I just don't know. Don't get me wrong, we had a brilliant day there, and I wholeheartedly recommend that you go, but, it's a touch odd. It's a folly, a facade, a tourist attraction ... a village that's not really a village but is a village. It's surreal.