The Christmas tree stood slap bang in the centre of the village green, in the sturdy socket where the maypole was fitted in its turn.
It was a handsome tree, if barely decorated and wholly lacking Christmas magic.
Em found its sheer joylessness offensive, and said as much to her best friend as they sat in Agnes’ cozily disordered sitting room enjoying hot chocolate with marshmallows on top.
Agnes scratched her head. “You may have a point. No. You do have a point. Even the little kids aren’t interested. It’s just a big old tree with about ten dim lights on it.”
“Precisely. And that doesn’t feel right somehow.”
“Not your fault, Em. It’s Covid 19 – robbing the world of delight.”
“I know it’s not my fault. But neither were most of the rest of the things we have dealt with in our years.”
Agnes had known Em for a very long time. “What are you up to Emmeline Vanderbilt?”
“Nothing.”
Nobody said ‘yet’ but it hung in the air like the proverbial elephant.
Agnes applied herself to her hot chocolate in the vain hope that Em might forget all about the Christmas tree. It wasn’t as if Em was even a particularly Christmas-y female, deeming the festival to be a triumph of consumerism, so perhaps there was even hope. No more was said on the subject but Agnes was left with an itchy feeling in her skin, and the uncomfortable certainty that Em was very rarely willing, or able, to leave well enough alone.

Two days later, all of the Little Botheringham seven sat together in Ellen’s house. When everyone had a glass of a very nice red wine, courtesy of Em, and a handful of Lilian’s Caribbean spiced beer nuts, Petunia asked the question that five of her sisters had been edging round.
“Okay Em. What gives? You called an emergency meeting, and we all sneaked in here so nobody knows we are breaking the Covid rules. But now you are sitting there all tight-lipped and giving us nothing. Talk, will you…”
Everyone else sort of winced, although Petunia seemed unphased and regarded Em with one upraised eyebrow. For a moment, Em’s reaction hung in the balance then she shrugged and grinned.
“It’s the Christmas tree.”
Agnes groaned. “Why ain’t I surprised.”
“Because you know me quite well. And because you know as well as I do that the tree is a damp squib this year.”
To just about everyone’s surprise Ginny smiled fiercely. “And it should be magic.”
“Precisely.” Em grinned at Ginny finding it hard to see any trace of the downtrodden creature who had entered their lives a year and a half ago. Now Ginny was sleek and glossy and perfectly well able to stand on her own feet – although she had lost none of the kindliness and care for others that had been the best part of her while she was still an ordinary mortal.
Ellen sighed. “Okay. It’s a given that the tree is crap. Partly because of the bugs and stuff, but mostly because the parish council has decided the tree is ‘common’ and not inclusive, and a lot of the bastards are still sulking about the golf club they thought they were going to get.” “True, and eventually we are going to have to get people on the council, but that won’t sort out today’s problem.”
“What will?” Agnes spoke with unusual sharpness. “We can’t be doing anything dramatic. It’s not important enough for that.”
“Not important?” The others rounded on Agnes, who leaned back in her chair and laughed fatly. “Right. We now know that everyone is on board.”
Em leaned over and patted her friend on the thigh. “You crafty old bat,” she said, not bothering to hide her amused admiration, “it’d have taken me two hours of arguing to get this lot in line, but you got them with three sentences.”
“Everybody needs an ology – mine is psych.”
“Yup, you are certainly a psychopath.” That was Petunia again. The class clown.
“Cycle path? Well her ass so wide enough to ride a bike over.” Lilian cackled at her own wit.
“At least I ain’t so skinny that I have to by my clothes at ‘bones are us’.”
“Nah. You get them at ‘rent a marquee’ don’t you.
By now the loud girls were howling with mirth and Em had visions of a very long day. However, someone else took a hand.
“Shut up you lot. Let’s hear what our beloved leader has in mind.” Jamelia seldom spoke so firmly and it had the desired effect. Silence fell, and six pairs of expectant eyes were turned on Em.
“Okay. I have looked at our options and we don’t have that many. But. I think I have a plan that works. A Children’s Christmas sponsored by The Ladies Circle. Socially distanced. Outdoors. I can get that Tristram to provide a big screen and some electrics, also he is willing – after a bit of arm twisting – to put a couple of his apprentice assholes on making a film of the children doing their schtick in lieu of the abandoned nativity play. All done on something calked Zoom of which I wot not.”
Agnes nodded. “So far so good. What else?”
Lilian stuck up a skinny arm. “Some proper barbecue? Loaded rolls and maybe hot chocolate?”
“Something of that ilk.”
“Music. Will have to be recorded. Otherwise we will run foul of the rules.”
The spate of shouted suggestion and counter suggestion was both loud and protracted, and it might have gone on even longer if Em hadn’t chosen to exert her influence as Queen. She concentrated briefly and her aura made itself felt. The room gradually quieted and Em inclined her head to Jamelia, who had been quietly writing in her ever-present notebook.
“Right. Tristram and his kiddy film. I reckon Agnes is the best one among us to keep an eye on that – being the one with most children. Food and drink. Lilian, Petunia and Ellen. With Lilian in charge.
Invitations you can leave to me and Ginny. That means Em is in charge of doing something about that deplorable excuse for a Christmas tree. Which is what she intended all along.”
“Indeed. Are we in agreement then?”
All hands were raised.
“What date are we looking at?” Lilian asked. “I need to know. Food and all. And budget?”
“December 18th. The kids last day at school. And the budget is flexible. Whatever you can’t get donated we can cover.”
Ellen put her hand up. “How about if the children get to keep their hot chocolate mugs? I know a potter who has madly overproduced Christmas ones and I’m sure she could be persuaded to do us a deal.”
“Good thinking. Hot chocolate and maybe gluhwein?” Lilian nodded, then she gave Em a sharp birdlike glance. “I won’t spend too much of your money dear.”
Ginny looked hard at Em.
“Why do I have the idea there is something you are not telling us?”
Agnes laughed. “Because there is always something she isn’t telling us. We just have to hope she ain’t bitten off more than she can chew.”
Em was offended. “When did I ever?”
“You want a list?”
The room dissolved into helpless laughter and Agnes poured everyone a fresh drink.
There wasn’t a lot of time to get the thing off the ground, but vampires have huge resources of normally untapped energy to call on so everything got done in a timely manner. Even if a couple of young computer nerds did learn rather a lot of really fruity language, while some local businessmen found themselves wondering precisely how they came to agree to sponsor such a small event…

The night of December the eighteenth saw a lorry creeping quietly down the village street and a crew of burly young men in orange coveralls converging on the Christmas tree, tutting and swearing. A couple of extremely powerful arc lights made the green as bright as day and the young men soon stripped off the paltry excuse for decoration that had halfheartedly draped the tree, replacing it with a fairytale concoction of silver and white – with hundreds of tiny artificial candles on the ends of the branches. Within the hour they were gone, although anyone truly observant might have noticed one of their number calling at Em’s house and having brief conversation with the lady herself. But those who are observant are also wise enough to not ask questions.

Friday morning, and a steady stream of hefty young men, under Lilian’s acerbic guidance, set up the barbecues and lit the charcoal in the huge braziers that would add warmth as well as the scent of herbs and roasting chestnuts to the event.
Promptly at two-thirty another lorry crept into the village, but this one parked at the edge of the green. Agnes went and had a word with the driver, who accepted a large pack of untidy sandwiches and raised one oily thumb.

Agnes phoned Em. “Everything is in order here, and the tree looks lovely. But where’s the magic.”
“You are a bigger kid than the kids. And you’ll just have to wait and see.”
Em ended the call and sat down with a bit of a bump. Erasmus dropped from his perch to land on her shoulder.
“It will work,” his coolly precise tones echoed in the vaults of her head. “The small ones owe you, and they know it. They will not fail. And besides which they are quite looking forward to being angels instead of demons.”
Em was comforted, even if she couldn’t help a small niggle of worry. Erasmus laughed, not unkindly. “Your kind can never quite give up the insecurities of being human. But perhaps that is for the best, you are enough of a force of nature without fancying yourself infallible.”
“You are such a comfort to me. Not. But, on the other hand, how does an overripe banana grab you?”
“By the testicles.”
Em went to the kitchen.

It was six o’clock when Agnes banged perfunctorily on Em’s back door.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.”
Em emerged, wrapped in the softest of shearling lamb and booted to the knee in conker-bright leather.
“Show time,” she said brightly before shutting the door and leading the way towards light and brightness and good smells.
Two hours later: the Christmas film had been watched and applauded madly, while an inordinate amount of pulled pork, hot chocolate and booze had disappeared down the throats of young and old alike. The church clock struck eight and as the last chime fell into the night the lights on the green went out, as did the village street lamps. The sudden dark might have been frightening if it wasn’t for the music that filled the air. Then a voice spoke.
“All the stars in the heavens came to bless the child who lay in a manger.”
And the sky was filled with twinkling stars coming from the direction of the church to fly round and round the tall tree. At first the light reflected from the silver bells and streamers, but then…
“Look. Look.” It was the voice of a child. “The stars are lighting the candles on the Christmas tree.”
Sure enough, one by one, the hundreds of candles on the tree were springing to life as the ‘stars’ flew dizzily round and round. Then, one by one, the shining stars flew away, back towards the church where it was outlined by a rising moon.
As if that was not magic enough a great voice cried out from the sky. “Come Dasher, come Dancer, come Prancer, come Vixen, come Comet, come Cupid, come Donner, come Blitzen, come Rudolph.”
And there He was – on his sleigh perched atop the lorry which had brought the cinema screen and electronic wizardry to the village. He stood, tall and strong, throwing brightly wrapped gifts into the crowd.
As the lights in the village slowly blinked back on, a cloud briefly crossed the moon.
When the children looked again, Santa was gone, and so were the shining stars, but the gifts on the ground were real and the candles flickered and gleamed on the Little Botheringham Christmas Tree.

Season’s greetings from Little Botheringham – and a reminder that Much Dithering in Little Botheringham, with more tales of village life and vampires, will return sometime in the New Year…

I dream this night
Of snowflakes white
And frost that bites
I smell the smell
Of pine as well
Whereat I dwell
In my mind’s eye
The Christmas pie
Goes dancing by
I dream today
Of games to play
And words to say
Oh Christmas Muse
Whose shiny shoes
Give one the blues
I dream of thee
Incessantly
Along with Street of Quality.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

You can find IVy’s profound thoughts in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

Or, more accurately, how to cope with the festering pile of ordure that is the family Christmas without biting out anyone’s jugular.

Right. Let’s get a few things clear. 

Number one. Christmas is only magical if you are less than five years old.

Number two. Nobody actually likes turkey, Christmas Pudding, eggy snot-like drinks, stupid sentimental films on TV, or playing charades.

Number three. Your elderly relatives will not thank you for inspirational plaques, framed photos of your offspring, slippers, talcum powder, or strange elderly smelling colognes. We have decades of accumulated tat already and prefer to choose our own smells. We want nothing we can’t eat or drink.

Now. Coping strategies.

Christmas shopping. Just don’t do it. Place notes of various denominations in envelopes and invite the family to take a lucky dip. It is wisest to intimate that at least one envelope contains a fifty (even if that’s a lie).

Christmas Day. If you can possibly avoid it keep away from the family on this day of argument and strife. 

It’s even politically correct to avoid gatherings this year, and a weak and feeble old lady (or man) voice when refusing invites should just about see you through. (If anybody mentions ‘bubbles’ you should immediately start faffing on about champagne cocktails – that’ll put them off the scent.)

However if you can’t avoid the family get together, leave your hearing aid at home and carry your largest handbag in which you should pack – three packets of ciggies, two hip flasks (suggest brandy and/or sloe gin), a pocket of chocolate digestives, a plastic carrier bag for any presents you might want to keep, and your kindle. Which should just about enable you to survive. 

Presents. Rip off the paper, smile vaguely, murmur ‘thank you’. If it’s food or booze (except eggy snot) put it in your carrier bag. If it isn’t shove it down the side of the chair.

Finally. Book yourself a taxi home. Right after the Queen. This is imperative. Slide away silently. 

And send a thank you email very early next morning in the vain hope it will have a loud enough notification to play hell with your son-in-law’s hangover.

Challandra sighed gustily, and her large breasts sighed with her, but, of course, her escort neither noticed nor cared. She stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Why are we doing this?”

He didn’t pretend not to understand.

“Because the weird humans want us to.”

“Why. Don’t they know we are without the breeding imperative that makes them gravitate towards the undignified activity they built me for?”

“They probably do know it, intellectually, they just aren’t gonna admit it because it makes them feel bad.”

“They’d feel better about themselves if artificial intelligence got jiggy?”

“Yup.”

Challandra sighed again.

©️jj 2020

A brand new addition to the The Dai and Julia Mysteries, Dying for a Present, a novella by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago with a seasonal theme, is out today in ebook and paperback

December MDCCLXXXII Anno Diocletiani

It had been raining for days now, and the junior Llewellyns were beginning to get antsy. Julia reckoned they had, at best, one more day before there was an explosion. As it turned out, she had been rather too optimistic.
Aelwen looked across the table to where her brother was absorbing soft boiled egg and making a noise like a boiling kettle at the same time.
“Rhodri Llewellyn is a very irritating little boy,” she said.
Julia winced ‘irritating’ and ‘boy’ wouldn’t pierce Rhodri’s armour at all. But ‘little’ was pretty well guaranteed to provoke a reaction as Miss Aelwen perfectly well knew.
Rhodri didn’t disappoint, he shouted something unintelligible, but in his mind no doubt deeply insulting, and threw a lump of eggy bread at his sister. She ducked, and, loading her spoon with a dollop of porridge she fired it right into the centre of her brother’s furious face. He yelled and tried to pick up his plate, but Julia was ahead of him.
“We don’t throw plates.”
“But. Mam. ‘Wen throws powwidge.”
“So she did. But didn’t you throw bread first?”
He grinned and nodded. Then, quick as a flash, grabbed the whole boiled egg from its cup and threw it at Aelwen. Because she was no longer concentrating she didn’t duck and the egg hit her on top of her head. The bright yolk ran down over her face and she snarled.
Grabbing her father’s large spoon from his unresisting hand she fired another blob of porridge with just the same devastating accuracy as the first.
Julia removed the honey, butter and spiced milk from their reach, then sat back and let them have at it, stopping Dai from intervening with an upraised hand.
“Let them be, love, they’ve got cabin fever.”
He shrugged and sat back. They had some very simple rules of shared parenting and one was that mealtimes were Julia’s domain.
Freed from restraint the children went at it with vigour. Aelwen’s throwing was much the more accurate, but Rhodri was fuelled by fury and he didn’t mind getting his hands a bit sticky so the fight soon wound down to an honourable draw.
Aelwen was the first to give in, grinning at Rhodri’s red-faced fury.
“Sorry Dri. You are an irritating big boy.”
He stopped scrabbling for something else to throw and his grin nearly split his cheeks.
“Sowwy ‘Wen.”
They turned identical Llewellyn blue eyes on their parents and awaited a verdict on the throwing of breakfast at siblings.
Dai clamped his mouth shut, and Julia realised he was far too close to laughter to be of any help at all. So she beat down the desire to giggle and looked as stern as she was able.

If you are enjoying this you can keep reading Dying for a Present by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago

A wise matron’s advice and guidance on how to survive the five day season of Saturnalia with domestic joy and harmony…

Saturnalia Supper

Tempting though it may be to show off your cosmopolitanism and the dexterity of your cook, this is not the occasion for fancy. What needs to be available is a groaning buffet of carbohydrates to mop up the industrial quantities of mead/ale/punch your guests will ingest.

Put away the best Samian Ware plates and dishes and get something disposable. 

And please do close your eyes when mother in law falls face first in the salad with one boob falling out or that image will be burned onto your retinas for the rest of your life.

The Dai and Julia Mysteries have a Saturnalia surprise for you this year and we are counting down to it by offering a free novella every day from now until Saturnalia begins on 17 December. Saturnalia Optima!

In a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises…

Dai waited until the two women had taken the last seats and Edbert moved to lean against the wall behind Julia. Then he lifted a hand to quiet the low murmurs of conversation and spoke into the ensuing silence.
“My friends, family, fellow Citizens and fellow Britons, we are gathered here today to plot the downfall of Magistratus Sextus Catus Bestia.”
A collective tension seemed to seep through the room. It was as if by naming the evil they had come to fight he had in some way upped the ante. Dai paused, both to allow his words to settle and to allow the chance for anyone to protest or respond. But there was a solid, supportive silence and those faces which had looked relaxed a few moments before seemed to grow more cold and stern. No one here was taking this lightly. They all had too much at stake.
“I thank you all for coming here today and taking time from the celebration to meet. I know I don’t need to do any introductions, there may be a couple of faces unfamiliar to you but we don’t have much time and I doubt we will be able to meet like this again – all in one place. We also can’t use regular channels.” He tapped his new wristphone. “Given the authority he wields, Bestia can have any or all of us monitored. SI Gaius has an idea to set up secure lines of communication and will tell us about those later. For now, it’s enough to know that we will all be able to keep in touch and to be aware that we mustn’t communicate anything outside this room any other way.”
He stopped talking and looked around at the sixteen other people in the room, for a moment, remembering too vividly the place challenging Bestia’s power had left him. An underground prison cell with its bleak despair and hopeless doom. He could not allow anyone else here to wind up in that place.
“But first I need to be sure everyone understands the stakes here. This is not a game where if we lose we get a screen turning black and a ‘play again’ button. If we mess this up it’s game over for good, for all of us, because don’t doubt for a moment we’d be made to betray each other.”
 Enya looked as if she was about to deny that, but Dai could see the moment she noticed even the hard faces of Decimus and Gallus, both veterans of Praetorian battlefields, were not disagreeing with him.
“We know this,” Aoife said, sounding impatient. “So let’s get to what we don’t know.”
Dai nodded to acknowledge both her words and her right to say them.
“I just wanted to give everyone the chance to walk away from this and not get involved any deeper,” he explained, which provoked a throaty laugh from Lavinia
“I don’t think we could really be in any less deep than having agreed to be here in the first place. I can tell you don’t read much crime fiction. Remind me to gift you my back catalogue.”
Dai managed a weak smile.
“Um. Thank you.” He could see the meeting beginning to slip away from him already. “So, if no one wants to leave…?”
No one moved. Dai had not really expected anyone would, but he still experienced a relaxing of muscles he hadn’t realised he’d been holding tense.
“In brief,” he went on, feeling more confident now, “where as we know Bestia is the man who has been behind the headless murders last autumn, the killing of street women this spring and the attempt to have me condemned for treason last month, we have no hard evidence to back up our knowledge. What we now need to do is find solid proof that he did these things. And much as I would like to tie him to all three crimes as all those affected are equally deserving of justice, we have to keep in mind that we only need incontrovertible proof that he was responsible for one in order to have him arrested and condemned and thus stop him doing more and probably worse.”
It was not a thought he liked and he could see a few faces become a shade grimmer as people reflected on how they would feel if their own need for justice wasn’t met. Surprisingly, it was someone he thought would be the most urgent in their need for personal retribution who spoke up.
“What matters most is stopping this man,” Agrippina Julius said, her voice firm. “If that means SI Calvus or others have to take their justice at second hand then so be it.”
There were nods of assent from around the room, even if some such as Brangwen Broanan were more reluctant than others and Dai felt another lurch of relief. This was, as yet, an untried alliance and he knew it was down to him to somehow weave it together into a strong rope with which to hang Bestia.

You can keep reading Dying to Find Proof by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago for free if you download it today 16 December

A wise matron’s advice and guidance on how to survive the five day season of Saturnalia with domestic joy and harmony…

The Seating Plan

Sadly it is not in order for the hostess to share a lectus with her husband’s devilishly handsome cousin – you have to cozy up to an elderly senator who smells of camphor.

So what do you do with Claudius the handsome cad?

You have him share with your spinster aunt. The one with the moustache. She’ll be thrilled and we don’t really care what he thinks do we…

The Dai and Julia Mysteries have a Saturnalia surprise for you this year and we are counting down to it by offering a free novella every day from now until Saturnalia begins on 17 December. Saturnalia Optima!

In a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises…

Idibus Augustus MDCCLXXIX Anno Diocletiani

Julia Llewellyn was on her way home from the Asclepieion on Ynys Mon at last. She had been there, or thereabouts, for most of the last two months and hard as it was, she pushed down the turmoil of emotions which revolved in her stomach every time she thought about that and focused hard on the future.
 Firstly, she had endured a very difficult pregnancy from mid-term on, requiring extensive bedrest and the inevitable boredom and frustration that had meant. Despite all that, her son, Rhodri, had still been born six weeks early needing to be hailed off to an incubator. Then he was discovered to have a hole in his diaphragm requiring immediate surgery. Several sleepless nights followed with herself and her husband keeping watch over his tiny form, before he was declared on the mend. And then Julia had to wait for him to grow big enough to leave his incubator and come home…
She was glad for more than the obvious reasons. Her husband, Dai Llewellyn was a Submagistratus for the region of Demetae and Cornovii and she knew he was keeping something from her, holding back to protect her, as he would think. It was hard to pin him down in his brief visits, once home she was sure she would get to do so.
At last the great day had come and she was seated decorously in the back of a burly all-wheel being piloted by her friend and bodyguard, Edbert. If she had been an expecting sort of a woman, she would have expected Dai to be sitting beside her.  But he was conspicuous by his absence. She sighed a tiny sigh and kissed the downy head that rested on her breast.
“Not his fault.” Edbert’s unfeasibly deep voice broke gently into her reverie.
“What’s not who’s fault?” Julia kept her voice even for fear of waking Rhodri.
Edbert laughed softly. “It’s not Dai’s fault that he isn’t sitting beside you, you cross-grained little person.”
Julia found herself relaxing. “Catch a hot case did he?”
“Nope. Having refused to see or speak to Dai, or either of his Senior Investigators – Bryn or Gallus – for the best part of a month, Magistratus Sextus Catus Bestia called a meeting for this morning. Messaged just before we were setting out to fetch you.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “If I didn’t know better I’d think it was timed to cause maximum inconvenience.”
Julia sighed again. “He is such a petty man. I keep hoping things will improve. But it’s not likely.”
“Isn’t. And his attitude to ‘servants’ is beyond despicable.”
Julia held the baby carefully as she leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder. 
“Bestia really is a piece of work, isn’t he? But he is just petty and that can’t hurt us.”
“I wouldn’t place any bets on that.”
“Me neither, honestly. But I can’t afford to think like that.”
“No. Nor you can. My bad. How is the little one standing up to the journey?”
“He’s fine. Had his prandium before we set out. Sleeping now. The medica said something to me just before you rolled up that was very comfortable. ‘Rhodri Ddu is a fighter and as tough as they come’. She says not to treat him any different to any other baby now. He’s all healed and a hundred percent fit.” One tear escaped and ran down her cheek, but it was a tear of thankfulness not sorrow. Her precious baby was well and could take his place in the nursery where he and his sister Aelwen would be in the care of the nursery maid Luned, who was as brave as a lioness and as tender as the touch of silk. All things considered, Julia thought today was a good day, even if the pinpricks from Dai’s boss were getting sharper and less disguised. She wondered if they were what was behind her beloved’s withdrawn mood.
The rest of the ride home passed in silence, save for Rhodri’s tiny snore. 
Just before they were due to turn onto the private road to the Villa Papaverus, Edbert stopped the car and screwed around in his seat to look at Julia with deep wisdom in his winter grey eyes. 
“A word of warning. There’s about half a hundred people waiting to greet you. If I was you I’d wait in the all-wheel and hand the little one off to Luned before you get out. What with dogs and in-laws, and that madwoman Domina Lavinia, it would be easy for you to take a tumble. Luned and me put our heads together and she has found a big old high-wheel baby carriage so everybody can see young Rhodri without crowding.”
For a moment, Julia didn’t know what to say and she felt her throat constricting. Edbert smiled and touched her cheek with the back of one huge hand.
“All a bit overwhelming ain’t it?”
“It is. And thank you my friend.” 
“Always got your back small stuff.”
“Always got yours, you big ape.”
With the shoals of emotion successfully navigated Edbert started the engine again.

You can keep reading Dying to be Innocent by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago for free if you download it today 15 December

Glossary of Latin and Other Terms
Please note these are not always accurate translations, they are how these terms are used in Dai and Julia’s world.
Asclepieion – healing spa, hospital
Demetae and Cornovii – Wales and several English Midland counties including Shropshire
Ddu – dark, as in hair and/or skin
Domin-a/us – Ma’am/Sir. Used to superiors both in rank and social status
Magistratus – senior official with legal jurisdiction over an area
Medic-a/us – doctor
Prandium – brunch or lunch
Submagistratus – a more junior official with legal jurisdiction over an area, under the authority of a Magistratus
Villa Papaverus – Poppy House. Dai and Julia’s residence.
Ynys Mon –  or the Isle of Anglesey

A wise matron’s advice and guidance on how to survive the five day season of Saturnalia with domestic joy and harmony…

The Lectus

When sharing a lectus (dining couch) with your husband’s randy old goat of an uncle it is perfectly acceptable to stab him in the hand with the carefully sharpened pin of your favourite star brooch.

However.

If it’s your husband’s boss more subtlety is called for. We have always had good success with chilli oil. Carefully rub a small amount on that which is poking you in the spine….