Well, what a fun time we've had. I always feel so sad that Christmas finally comes to an end on 6th January. When we were children, it really did start on 24th December with the decorating of the tree and it always ended, not quite as ceremoniously, on the feast of the Epiphany. It was still a special day in the winter calendar, for the Three Kings from the Orient were jolly bringers of gifts. The taking down of the tree was a special rite, with the same distant glimmers of future light as T.S Elliot so poetically propounds in 'The Wasteland'. Of course, when we lived in Madrid 'Los Reyes' was a bigger celebration than than 'Navidad' itself. Most Spanish children had to patiently bide their time through the twelve days of Christmas before they got their presents. Thank goodness, Freddie was only a tot and Ellie just a twinkle in her dad's eye!
The market saturation of the capitalist economic model, from the moment that some enterprising young 'tanenbaum' importer spotted Prince Albert's marketing potential, until now, when Waitrose et al begin stocking their shelves before the end of September, has changed the nature of Christmas for the worse. So many people are sick to death of the whole over-indulgent business that they are treeless by the evening of the 1st January. OK, I know in Austria and Bavaria they often take their trees down to make way for the brightly coloured decorations and firework bonanzas for 'Sylvestre', but that's different, I feel. For one thing, we don't have any skiing to cheer ourselves up!
My Christmas tree has stayed put! For one thing, we had to leave it up at Bardies because we ran out of time. The poor, dead car remained behind, looking decidedly sorry for itself, as we made our own way to Blagnac and onward to Bristol on Easyjet. It wasn't easy transporting two years worth of revision books and files for my daughter's mocks by plane, nor taking our son's keyboard home which he had deemed essential for his composition assignment. Dealing with European offices of insurance companies between 18th December and 2nd January has given us an interesting insight into the EU Working Time Directive. Indeed, one excuse for their tardiness was that they had not answered their telephones because the Christmas party was in progress. I wonder just how many parties they had?
Today, finalement, Regine, my neighbour, has rung to tell me that the car has gone. A result, although poor Regine was convinced that it had been stolen. There is no snow at Bardies currently she tells us, but Regine says that it is due. Back here in Salisbury, our garden looks like Narnia. It is beautiful, but with our 4 wheel drive in transit, we are virtually immobile. The insurance company refuses to give us a replacement vehicle until the car is 'in repair', rather than abandoned awaiting transit. I will desist from putting any expletives into print, but most words required to describe this ludicrous stalemate begin with the letters 'f' and 'b'!
We have SNOW! Lots and lots of it! The last time I remember snow like this, I was twelve. What a great present for the twelfth day of Christmas, for some of us idle romantics and dilettantes anyway. I love the way the UK just gives up the ghost and gives in gracefully to the elements. Sod it, we think, instead of battling near Arctic conditions, let's just give the kids a day off school and all have some fun instead. Overnight, we all metamorphose into children again and everyone is nice to each other. We are lucky, for we live in the city. I managed to hobble in with my bruised ribs to get to the dentist for my next major dental reconstruction and pick up fresh bread, milk and vegetables on the way. Everywhere was so quiet and everyone was so kind. People seem to be rekindled with the spirit of the Blitz. Friends kindly offered to take our daughter back to school in Blandford in their 4 x 4. She, unsurprisingly, declined, having already been told by her housemistress not to risk the journey.
Many people who did decide to chance it were not so lucky. Being stuck all night on the A3 near Petersfield must have been a nightmare, and thousands are without heat and light in this perishing cold. I am in seventh heaven. We have the fire going, the remains of the ham bone from Christmas making the stock for a hearty ham and pea soup and the Aga [sorry, I've admitted my one last uncontrollable addiction!] keeping the kitchen warm and cosy. I've bought the parsnips to make Jane Grigson's curried parsnip soup for tomorrow, and the potatoes to make a big fish pie with some of the contents of the freezer. I've also got enough mince to make lasagne for the whole street! There's something about cold weather and comfort food, and bugger the waistline. Oh, and I've still got my Christmas tree lights twinkling in the icy darkness. The only blight on the horizon is that they must come down by midnight or bad luck will fall upon us. Old Catholics like me don't dare take too many chances! Happy 'Los Reyes' everyone. Only 353 days to go until the First Day of Christmas!
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