The Bad News

Christmas often brings news of friends that we haven't seen for a long time. This year, we had a selection.

Most importantly, the dreadful news that a guy who was once one of our closest friends, has cancer. In the '70's, I shared a flat with Ian's girlfriend Caro, now his wife. Although they were a few years older than us, my girlfriend and I became close friends with both of them. When Moonface & I married, Caro was at our wedding whilst very pregnant with their first child.

We have kept in touch over the years, but more infrequently of late. They have an existence which many would regard as the English ideal: he is a country doctor, and she is a midwife and nurse. They have a lovely house with an acre of so of land in a rural part of Gloucestershire, and three well-adjusted adult children.

We called Caro the other day, to arrange a visit. She could only talk with difficulty, through tears. Ian had just been diagnosed as suffering from colon cancer with metastases in his liver, and he is continually on morphine to dull his pain.
He's probably going to die. It's dreadful.

Christmas

Où sont les neiges d'antan?


I've not seen snow at Christmas for years. This year we had dull pewter skies and a pervading damp. The roads and paths didn't dry, nor did the sun shine.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed the day, as did the rest of my family. I was selfish enough to choose to cycle to the Farm, about thirty miles along the canal path followed by a dozen road miles. The in-laws were welcoming as ever, and we had few arguments considering our differing outlooks on life. I was tired after three hours in the saddle and a roast goose, so instead of taking the traditional walk with the family, Rio and I snoozed on the sofa. It could have been the wine, of course. I wish that I saw more of Jane & Michael. I can't work out why I am always so reluctant to visit the Farm if I don't have to. Perhaps it's because I feel out of place, or because of the memories of difficult days with Moonface's father.

Winter Solstice

I returned to Avebury for the Solstice on the 22nd with Moonface & Nicky, who have both been to previous Solstices, both Winter and Summer.

The early morning was chill and misty, with a light frost and an atmosphere of quiet apart from the muted rush of commuter traffic from the 21st century road running through the Circle.

There were only thirty-five people within the circle witnessing the ceremony, which was led by Terry the Druid. A prosaic name, a strange title. The ceremony was gentle & convivial, with most attendees introducing themselves by name and their home. It's wonderful and surprising to think that there was only that small number of people in the largest stone circle in Britain; a monument that's five thousand years old, predating the Pyramids and Stonehenge.

After the short ceremonial, Moonface, Nicky and I walked up to Windmill Hill, over the sodden fields and the winterbournes, swollen by the recent rains. In summer their courses had all been dry; and now the streams are overflowing into the low fields surrounding them.

Instant Food

Whinging offspring?
Hungry & irritable wife?

Take:
400g salmon
400g tagliatelle
300ml creme fraiche
Herbs, salt.


Bring a large pan of water to the boil
Microwave the salmon, say 4 minutes at 650W. Remove & flake it.
Chuck tagliatelle into boiling water, cook for 3-4 minutes
Drain, stir in salmon flakes, add the creme fraiche, herbs & salt to taste.
Mix well, serve with salad and a Chilean pinot noir.

Time - about 10 min start to finish.

Result: relaxed wife, quiet children.
And a contented man.

Not the Solstice

The Aussies will leave the UK tomorrow, to fly to Paris.
We planned to meet at Avebury for the Solstice ceremony this morning, but this year the date of the solstice is the 22nd, one day later than usual.

But we went to Avebury anyway, to meet, walk the perimeter of the stones, and give the girls a chance to play in the frost. It's been a chilly, foggy morning.

Pre-Christmas ride

What a filthy evening, but fun.

First, spend time preparing a bicycle.
Cycle to the Bridge, meet up with the lads, hang around and talk for a while.
Cycle off through some fields and woods, pausing while Dan mends a puncture.
Get filthy, muddy and wet.
Go to a pub, drink a pint of cider and talk rubbish.
Cycle back, getting even wetter and muddier.
Wait for Dan to fix another puncture.
Return to Adam's place, eat a vast curry, drink beer, finish with cake and cheese, talk lots more.
Cycle home, stinking of beer and garlic.
Shower.
Bed by midnight. Bliss.
Wake up. still stinking of garlic, but not beer.

The Wind in the Willows

Last week we went to see an Old Vic Theatre School production of The Wind in the Willows, based on the book from the 1900's. When the kids were small we used to go every year to the school's production, as it's always well produced and fun. This year we went en famille again, all five of us now.

As usual, the songs and dances were well done, but I became so annoyed about the social values reflected in the story that I found it hard to concentrate. The overriding message seemed to be that the rich could do as they wished & break the law with impunity, whilst the lower classes or poor were evil & could be abused at will. It made me angry.

Bath Skyline

After a week of dark wet days, Saturday was clear and fine.
In the absence of anything better to do, Moonface and I repeated a short winter walk that didn't require the use of a car. We took the local train to Bristol TM, then onwards to Bath. The trains were packed tight with shoppers and weekenders, but arrived on time and took us more easily & faster than a car right into the centre of Bath.

Then we walked around the station, under the tracks, over the river, along the canal towpath, then up the hill to the clear ground overlooking the city. In ten minutes we could overlook the whole of the old city, coloured cream and honey in the bright light. We walked over frosted grass and muddy fields, through a valley that debouched onto the city yet had no roads running through it.

Then, through woods, past houses, by the university fields, over a golf course and eventually back down to the city again after about six miles. We had met few people apart from joggers and dog-walkers, until we returned to the city.

We threaded our way back into the city centre through the hordes of shoppers, briefly looked into the Victoria Art Gallery and ate hot Cornish pasties in the gardens overlooking the weir before catching our trains home. Overall it was a simple, pleasurable quiet day out, all the better for being snatched from a wet winter.


(tbc)

Danae

As a small present to each other to celebrate the 4th , Moonface & I finally got around to framing & mounting a picture we bought in Hungary, in the summer.

It's a pastiche or reproduction of Klimt's 1907 painting, Danae, in oils. It sits well on the wall and is in scale with the recess in which we have placed it.

More about the Poles

Good news.
For many years, Britain's Trades Unions have been in decline, aided by the fragmentation of industry and anti-union legislation.

It seems that the new influx of Poles & other Ians (passim) may lead to a regeneration of the unions, and may help prevent exploitation of poor immigrant workers.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/comment/story/0,,1964807,00.html

The Dug-Out

On the night of 4th December I picked up a girl - or she picked me up - in the Dug-Out, a sleazy cellar club with beer soaked carpets and too much smoke. She was the friend of a friend, a skinny blonde with blue eyes and a big mouth. Not that I could see the colour of her eyes in the dim lights and haze of the club.

I think that my first words to her were to ask her to buy me a drink while she was at the bar. I suppose that I was feeling ultra-confident, because I'd had a one-night stand the evening before, after a drought of months. She bought me the drink, so we talked. Then we danced, and talked more, and presumably drank more. I don't remember.

Then, I walked her home and stayed overnight. I liked her.

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I still do. That was in 1973. We're married now, and have been for more than thirty years.

Le Boulot V

Quel boulot?

Pas encore !
Merde.
Pffft.

Sunday Roast

Last night the wind howled and sighed around our house like a cat. The rain was torrential, bringing nearly all the leaves down from the trees lining the street. We were woken up at about four in the morning by the sounds of the heavy weather, so we slept late and watched the recurring showers as the sun rose. I'm always uneasy in high winds, as I replaced a broken skylight (damaged by cowboy builders!) with plastic a few years ago, and I am not convinced of its strength. By 11:30 there was a clear spell, with a strong wind and a bright blue sky, so Moonface & I took the chance to walk up to the downs for plodge in the mud and to clear our lungs. The wet had kept many people indoors, so the Downs were unusually empy and pleasant for a Sunday.

In the evening, all five of us (including the boyfriend) had a traditional roast meal together. I prepared most of the trimmings, if not all; with wonderful crackling, apple sauce, gravy, roast potoatoes and veg. I enjoy cooking roasts, as the procedure has become like a dance, with a sequence of events that can be changed and varied according to needs and to whim. We should entertain more often, as it's months since I cooked for several guests rather than just my family.