Illegal Christmas

We have just spent an illegal Christmas here in my Ladbroke Grove Flat- Andrew and Pia who were first with me for that legendary trip to Mali at  Christmas and New Year 2005-6, and Ralf. our German friend. 

It was illegal in so far as we all live alone, so therefore, under the emergency laws now in force we were all only strictly allowed to see one more person, and that was supposed to be outside! So that was of course no good...

There was a way of breaking the law which  let us off the hook at the same time as remaining safe in the knowledge that we were not spreading the disease...

 I had found a pharmacy in Portobello Road that made 20 minute  while-u-wait-Covid tests. Before my guests arrived, they had to go and get themselves tested... then come straight to Ladbroke Grove.  

Fortunately we were all Negative, so we could carry on and celebrate Christmas together. Christmas Eve was a Swedish affair, below with the Swedish Pia- there was herring of course, and Janssons Frestelse, and Julskinka and Glogg and Schnapps and smoked Elk sausage  and Ris a la Malta...  other nations had culinary representations in the form of Champagne and Panettoni of course...

And it went on to Christmas Day when Britain was finally represented in the form of a traditional Turkey dinner with all the trimmings including Pigs in Blankets, Cranberry sauce and Brussel Sprouts with chestnuts etc. and a marvellous Christmas Pud from the Garrick Club! 

Andrew below is wearing his mask for a moment as a means of identifying the year for future reference... there was the Queen's speech- lovely I thought- then prezzies for every one- before we were supposed to play those obligatory games- but the Charades were dropped by the way-side this year, as instead we all sank happily into watching a great double bill of Graham Greene stories- both famous classics: first Brighton Rock (the 1948 version of course), then the Third Man. 

 

It was interesting to see these two in succession, because they both feature two great Greene heroines who love their villainous men with a sort of unconditional, religious fervour. In the case of the angelic Rose, she is able to remain with  the merciful delusion  that Pinkie loved her; while Anna, on the contrary, knows fully the depth of Harry Lime's crimes, she even understands that he didn't love her. It doesn't matter to her. Her rejection of Martins when she walks past him without acknowledgment in the final scene is sublime...

After all a lovely Christmas in these strange times!

Picnics galore

has been the survival mechanism in this bizarre year. And yesterday was no exception. Some months  after we would normally have abandoned the park benches and grassy slopes for the comfort of a roaring fire in a lovely country pub, we are still gathering in the increasingly fresh air...

                                           

And here we are, having our picnic,  in Chalfont St. Giles where the pub to the left behind us no doubt would have been able to offer us  that roaring fire, but  was not able to let us in of course.  Amersham, the last outpost of the Metropolitan line, was the  beginning of our 9mile (15 k) circular walk, which included visiting (the outside of)  Milton's house where he is said to have finished Paradise Lost.

It was our book club outing. This book club is a very elastic and tenacious affair, able to mould itself around whatever circumstances is thrown at it. For two and a half years we were 'the Dantistas', who nearly managed to get through the Divine Comedy at my flat on Wednesdays, but when only half of Paradiso remained we were stopped in our tracks by this pandemic. Something lighter was needed, and we read Love in the Time of Cholera while our meetings became either ZOOM or mutated into socially distanced picnics in the summer months. 

And then our reading material became even shorter- now we read a short story a week, working through a series of the genre's greats: Flannery O'Connor, Katherine Mansfield, Raymond Carver etc. And sometimes we even read one we have penned ourselves! But, we will return to Dante once day...

 We ran into some very friendly horses, in a muddy field and I reflected how very fat they are in comparison to horses in Mali!

                                                                   

And that brings me back to that dear subject again: I will be leaving for Mali and Djenne at the end of January, inchallah, to see 'my' people in the library in particular. The project is still running and I speak to them every Saturday morning on WhatsApp.  Until then I spend most of my days trying to put the Djenne memoir into shape...on the second draft now.