As I quickly riffle through, in my mind, the varicose bits of news to be gleaned from the year’s almanac hung on the nail behind the closet door of my memory, I’m reminded of a one-liner from heaven knows where- “It’s deja vu, all over again!” John and Miriam’s educational and social development can only command so much interest among the ‘fair and shining ones’ who dwell in the grand metrolopses; claims that I am married to the most delightful woman and best cook in the world might not make the matchbox backs in Brite Lite City, but out here in the sticks, this is all Nine O’clock Mews stuff- the sort of stuff Michael Buerk would give Trevor MacDonald’s right arm for. –‘and this just in from our Arts Editor- The exhibition at Aylesham has just made a strong opening, after the summer trade in the Ludham Bridge area had shown a remarkable 3% growth over last year. The Chancellor says it will not affect boat hire rates’.
es, I’m afraid our news is old news, but we’re happy to be stuck with it, or if it’s new it’s similar to the old-‘And still to come in the programme; Miriam’s Brownie Peace Mission to Ulster, and John’s tour of Belgian WW1 trenches’. Actually the Brownies are now old hat; now it’s the Guides, and an honorary staff job with the Brownies. And finally, John is taller than me, and wears bigger shoes, and Miriam is into synchronised swimming- think formation dancing in the water.. So the more it comes out the same, the happier we are.
he only bit we aren’t happy with is the familiar tale of a dearly loved parent engaged in a chess game with the Reaper Man, but note, I didn’t say a last game. Valerie’s Mum, already diabetic, was taken into hospital in October, having dehydrated to a critical point. She was in intensive care, on a ventilator, under heavy sedation, with tubes in more orifices than figure in polite conversation, and she suffered a cardiac arrest. For a while all the supposed smart money was on the party with the scythe, what with the touts, I mean the consultants, muttering darkly that ‘family decisions will have to be made’. But Queenie Constance Carter is a very remarkable lady. She let the bookies get in really deep, then she pulled the rug. She came off the ventilator, out of intensive care; they stopped the sedation and she woke up. She looked round and said-
here’s me tea?”
For the rest it’s the same old mixture in the same old tins, but the aromas still make the nose twitch, and the corners of the mouth turn up. It’s the same old, usual run of the mill, ordinary, wonderful, delightful Christmas at Barneybees, where the lights flicker and twinkle and dance as entrancingly as ever, where the woven memories of other Christmases still make the most comforting shawl of an evening, by the fire, and whether from the distant majesty of the Albert Hall’s ‘Joy to the World’, or in the intimacy of Catfield 1st School’s Nativity, the shepherds and angels and wise men will bind us again with their story of a baby in a stable.
Merry Christmas.