14December1995

London: 14th December 1995
My dear folks,

It’s bloody cold. Or, rather, it feels bloody cold, because there’s a wicked wind that slips quite effortlessly between the lounge windows & mocks the efforts of the radiators. Mavis is sprawled akimbo under the study radiator here beside me, displaying his ample tummy to the gods. Every so often I toss another paper clip on to it to stop him snoring; I can’t think while he snores. The paper clips are quite effective as snore-stoppers. I just have to pick them up again afterwards. There’s a dump of sleet & rain expected. We note from the weather reports that there’s been snow over much of Europe already, confirmed from Germany in Cathy’s fax (thanks as always).

It’s been a mixed sort of day. We awoke to news of riots in Brixton, heart of London’s black district. We have heard all the arguments rehearsed so often before, of high unemployment & discrimination on the one hand; of criminals inciting mobs on the other. We could repeat them all verbatim. In short, we’re jolly glad we don’t live in Brixton & feel sorry for the decent folk who do & for those who’ve had their shops & businesses either sacked or razed or both.

I awoke at 2 & again at 4 when I crept down to the study to attack the piles of paper lying in my trays. It was a jolly useful 3 hours, at least half of which I spent sniffing around the Internet. I took a look at the films & plays showing in Toronto & in Johannesburg; I looked at the weather forecasts; I glanced at the front pages of the American, Portuguese press & British press; I signed up to a couple of electronic newspapers; I entered a competition & had a jolly time of it. The only unjolly bit was the ticklish throat I’ve trying to coax back to good health. The flu has been rampant here in Britain & I’ve used the power of positive thought to keep it at a distance. Jones, too, has been feeling slightly off colour, although not sufficiently to deter her from her walk up to the supermarket. So we’ve had a quietish day.

After completing half of my correspondence, I put the other half off & took the Rocket to the garage for a much needed wash. Jones expressed the thought that the dirt might protect it. I disillusioned her. Thence to the banks (looking after other people’s business inevitably requires visits to several banks & I’ve long become accustomed to being addressed in the several names of the accounts I administer.); and finally to the boozer whence I laid in a good stock. We had noted a couple of South African wines which were highly recommended in a TV food and wine programme. Indeed, if you come across Wineland Cinsaut/Tinta Barocca, you could do yourself a favour & get a few. It’s excellent value for money & quite drinkable after just a few months in the bottle.

Then I borrowed my neighbour’s stationery catalogue & ordered another year’s supply of printer cartridges & fax paper down the phone from an amazing stationer who delivers everything to your door the following day at half the price you can buy it in the high street. My neighbour says Mavis had marched in through the cat flap & spent the morning there, overseeing a meeting the neighbour was having with some designers.

I’m aware that Mavis is a very artistic cat - has the last word in fashionable poses - & said this came as no surprise. Mavis goes out of the front door and round to the garden. What he doesn’t know. Indeed, what the other fat cat who actually lives with the neighbour & whose food Mavis helps himself to, doesn’t know, is that the dog the neighbour brought back from Italy gets out of quarantine on Christmas Day. There’s going to be a couple of surprised cats around here soon. Could also be a surprised dog, I guess.