18December1997

18 December 1997
My dear folks,

It must be pretty close to mid-winter. Dawn didn’t arrive till close on 0800 this a.m. & it wasn’t much of a dawn when it did arrive – grey & damp. Now the time has just gone 1600 & it’s nearly dark again. Jones has gone to town to meet a friend. She left the cosiness of the flat reluctantly as it was pouring. Since her own wellies were in the car, she thought she’d try mine instead. They were a just bit big; I have small feet. Apropos of nothing, I read a while ago that biologists had discovered that the same gene controlled the size of men’s feet & their genitals. As a rule, it was said, guys with small feet would have small widgets & vice versa. Like all rules, it had its exceptions (I can assure you) but was nevertheless a good guide. I did wonder for a moment about women who were meant to cast their eyes down modestly. If Cousin Trish has anything biological to add on the subject, I shall pass it on. But, as I say, this is not apropos of anything. It just cropped up.

I have two long hard days behind me & the joyful prospect of several days ahead to recover my energies. My commutes on both days were made in the teeth of a Siberian gale that blew the bike to the Beeb & tried to blow it back when I returned home. The wind stung my eyes, froze my ears & flapped by reflective jacket around like a sail. But at least the sleet storm that whipped around the Beeb yesterday arrived after I did & left before me. The twin flagpoles in front of the stage door were bending over backwards. Other parts of the country were covered in snow & pictures showed traffic slithering all over the show. Not that it takes a lot of snow to sow confusion in Britain where winter tyres are unheard of. I’m only too well aware, as I write, of the vicious freeze that has gripped eastern Europe & the pettiness of any complaint from here. We had a report from our Moscow correspondent describing life at minus 30 in a capital where vagrants still litter the streets at night.

The opposite extreme was evident in a (welcome) email from Robbie talking about 40 temps in Ulco & the need to wait for the boiling water from the cold water pipe (which passed through the roof) to cool down before taking a shower. (His son) Bevan joined us for supper yest. & spent the night with us. Mavis approved. After draping himself all over Bevan after supper, he followed him into the study. I suspect that Mavis, at least, had a very comfortable night. He is not encouraged to spend the nights upstairs, not only because he likes a lot of room but also because he snores. I had my earliest night in weeks after finding myself falling asleep in the TV chair. There’s something about that chair that sends me off in minutes. Barbara is trying to persuade Bevan to give up his flat in the country & find one in London to avoid a three-hour daily commute. Bevan likes his flat but not the commute!

My day has passed effortlessly amid a welter of little things. After leaving my computer turned off for an unprecedented two days, I took an hour to catch up on email, bank statements & the like. I dialled into the Beeb to see if there was any announcement of the outcome of last month’s boards but not a word! Mid-a.m. I took myself over the road to His & Hers for a trim from Elaine, my worldly-wise, tender-twenties hairdresser. We discussed Christmas plans, hers to celebrate (hangovers are regular guests of hers) & mine to work. There was a new trainee, Carly, who made light conversation while she washed my hair. I thought her jolly good. What does a teenager say to a greybeard whom she’s tending? Mind you, the pair of them chatted away gaily to the several old ladies whose heads had vanished under nets & goo in what was clearly going to become the Christmas hairdo. I like His & Hers. It’s down to earth in the nicest way. The girls speak in high cockney accents. Carly confessed she was “ayh-een” (her idea of news was discovering what the celebs had been up to! She thought I must have a lovely job), Elaine “tweh ee-one”. They’re a hoot.

Lunchtimish my fixer arrived, handyman & plumber in tow, to sort out an electrical problem in one flat & a leak in another. I had them mend a minor problem in our own loo at the same time. Thereafter, I trotted up in the dusk to the bank. It’s warmed up & stopped raining but the roads were still shiny……….Jones is home. Supper’s on the hob. A hot bath & quiet evening in prospect; what more could one ask.

Blessings
T