25December1997

25 December 1997
My dear folks,

Christmas Day is dawning slowly here in London. It’s mild but windy. The wind was blowing in the right direction last night & I let it bring me home. Amazing how much difference it makes on a bicycle. It was less kind in the west of the country where gales toppled electricity pylons & uprooted trees overnight, as well as bringing death & destruction to the roads. Jones & I have woken early, having retired early. Not that we had much choice in the matter; His Nibs conducted his usual brief 0600 struggle with the spring-loaded bedroom door before tumbling noisily into the room & depositing his considerable bulk on Jones as he likes to do.

I begin the third of four consecutive shifts in a couple of hours. I found a message from the editor on the answer-phone when I got back last night advising me to come in late & look after the latter part of the day when he hoped to allow others to leave early. There’s seldom much work to do on Christmas Day other than finding something to report. The formula is to move from Bethlehem to Rome & to sprinkle the bulletins with Christmas messages & features. However Christmas started out – presumably as a mid-winter festival long before Christ was born – it’s conquered the world, which simply closes down for the occasion; the planet seems almost to stop in its orbit. We’ve been doing a series of programmes on how the festival has invaded Asia. Even Chinese have begun sending out Christmas cards. With a view to filling air time today, I spent several hours yest putting together a fat feature on the astonishing lengths that truck owners go to in Pakistan to decorate their vehicles.

We entertained our neighbours to refreshments on Tuesday evening, the two girls from the flat below us & a third from the ground floor flat. They all greeted Mavis fondly. The fat feline, who visits them all regularly, was on his best behaviour on the new settee, something to which he has taken a sudden strong fancy. Another (departing) tenant dropped in with a deposit from her boss (who is taking over her flat). Two more neighbours arrived later, filling the room. Jones had prepared platefuls of Christmas goodies that vanished nearly as quickly as the mulled wine & my best port. It was a pleasant get-together of the sort that is both useful to have & nice to get out of the way. Our neighbours include several smokers. I opened the windows wide after they’d left to blow the stale fumes away.

Stef & Herman were the only absentees; they’re away for a fortnight. We’re looking after their stout Pupu in their absence. Bevan Jones was meant to join us for the Christmas break but heard at short notice that he was to travel to Turkey on business. He’ll hopefully be back in London in time for a belated Christmas dinner with us & in time to attend to the needs of both Pupu & Mavis in our absence. We go to Germany for a week on Saturday. Thank you for your own news updates. Robbie, you have exceeded yourself. Canadians I heard with great interest of Alan’s selection for a racing team & would love to hear more.

Our own news is limited. Jones has been walking London – sometimes with me. She’s been visiting the dentist & the optician. We both walked into Tottenham Court Road on Monday, first to take my scanner back (yet again) as it needs a part which the manufacturers are temporarily out of & the guarantee is about to run out. We went on to visit the big bookstores in the area to look for a CD-ROM Portuguese course for Jones. There was none available. They seem to be limited to German, French, Spanish & Italian. I later found one advertised on the Web & emailed the US manufacturers who emailed me back with details of a British supplier. I may yet get Jones to use the computer! Meanwhile, I (& numerous others) have had yet another letter from BBC Personnel saying the outcome of November’s boards was being further delayed. It would appear that the corporation’s money people have to get together with its management people to discuss what’s affordable. I’ll keep my comments to myself, as they don’t belong in a Christmas letter.

The radio chimes out the start of the 0800 news bulletin as a grey dawn reveals the familiar roofs of Maida Vale. Let me wish you a happy Christmas. Our thoughts are much with you.