20December1997

20 December 1997
My dear folks,

This is just a little letter to say a Yuletide hello. Jones says she has been finding it difficult to get into the Christmas spirit this year. She has retrieved our little folding Christmas Tree from the cupboard beneath the stairs & decorated it; but it fell over, spilling its baubles & breaking a plastic leg. So she put it up again, this time in a safer spot. She also hung up our circular Christmas card holder & stuck our cards in it but this also fell down & had to be remounted. You might think these were not auspicious omens. But, whatever they betoken, they have not upset my own plans for Christmas which are to carry on life as normally as possible. I hope I do not sound churlish if I confess that it is not my favourite time of year.

I said to Jones as we walked along the canal to Sainsburys yest. that my least favourite Christmas thing was those blaring buy-more carols in stores bustling with bad-tempered, last minute shoppers. They bring me out in a metaphorical rash – if that is permissible. Jones urged me to sit down with the paper in the coffee shop while she obtained the groceries. But I declined her kind offer & insisted on doing my bit. There was no sign of the Christmas Eve scramble &, after all, a man has to show a little backbone. We returned along the canal with our rucksacks full. Jones likes the walk along the canal in spite of the cyclists who annoy her. They are not meant to ride there but they do, to avoid the traffic on the roads. I have a sneaking sympathy for them. I deviated on the way home to show Jones the petshop where one could obtain special low-calorie cat-biscuits for his nibs.

Now it just happened that there was a second hand furniture store on our way. And we just happened to peep inside & see a two-seater brown leather settee residing in the entrance. We asked the proprietor if we might try it. He didn’t mind at all. Jones found it very comfortable. It was just her size. I found it quite comfortable. It wasn’t sufficiently high backed for me to snooze in but it was delightful to sit in. The proprietor explained that he’d got it from a fellow who’d paid a £1,000 for it at Harrods, & he pulled up a cushion to show us the Harrods stamp on the label. “How much?” I enquired cautiously. “£300,” he replied. We aahed & ummed a bit & sat down & stood up a bit & indicated that we were interested but not in a position to give the proprietor an immediate answer. We needed to confer. That would be in order, he indicated. On the way out, I asked him for his best cash price? Well, he said, he could knock £50 off if push came to shove.

Jones wasn’t sure & I know better than to push her, believe it or not. So we talked of other things. But when she got home, she looked at the space where the settee would go - if we bought it - & thought it might fit quite well. And then she thought no more of it. We had a last little walk, to the bank to deposit a Quinta cheque & to the greengrocer to stock up. We do lots of walking, as you know. Jones was in the bath with a whisky when the man came to deliver the settee. I explained to her that I couldn’t hop in the bath myself because I expected the doorbell to go any moment - & it did that very instant. The deal was that the man & his assistant would carry up the settee. Very sensible of me because it proved hard work. They puffed & panted as they tried to negotiate our two flights of narrow stairs. I threw in a fiver as a thank you. Mavis promptly tried the couch but didn’t much like it. Leather isn’t his thing. On the other hand, we grew ever more pleased with our acquisition, especially as we sat on it to watch Clint Eastwood escape from Alcatraz. It really fits the bill.

Today we went walking out at Waterperry, our 2½-hour walk that starts from the back of the gardens & winds for miles along back roads, through villages & across fields. We took a little nourishment first at The Pear Tree, the scrumptious restaurant at Waterperry. Then we put on our wellies & set out. We needed them. The fields were soft underfoot & in many places the sheep had churned them into mud baths through which we squelched ankle deep. Even so, it was a lovely walk. Now we’re about to sit down to supper. I have one last bottle left of 1982 Avery’s Fine Red Burgundy from the case Jones gave me as a gift in the middle of the last decade. I think it would be a fitting libation. Let me get this off, especially as it’s about very little; as I said, it’s really just a hello.

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