I am sitting at my architect friend Keith’s house in the most unlikely location – Deptford. An unruly, charmless, largely destroyed by Nazi bombs area of South East London. His tiny terraced house a laboratory for the work that has defined his career.
After 10 years of messing about with the house…it is finally finished.
We drove to Shoreditch for another wander around the back streets and do a little Christmas shopping. The shops are heaving with customers. There is NO evidence of a recession here. I bought a huge Christmas pudding from St John’s and some great socks. Everything else that we wanted to buy, like a sweater in All Saints, was irritatingly sold out.
We had lunch at Shoreditch House where I bumped into Robert. I knew I would. Very handsome.
Ate gorgeous traditional Sunday roast beef. Dog in a bag under the table.
Last night Carol and I walked to our local labour politician’s Christmas party. It is amazing how they, like so many local Whitstable people, read this blog. I am delighted! Our host and his wife are good, old-fashioned socialists..the sort McCarthy and now Sarah Palin HATES.
Surely I couldn’t possibly be surrounded by so many devilishly intelligent left wingers who were, like me, excited by the wholly unexpected political reinvigoration of the young we saw last week in London? This, after so many years of inertia from our traditionally vocal students.
We salute you British students and urge you to continue to daub, poke, shout..etc. I give you permission to make this government as uncomfortable as you possibly can.
Apparently the mad, bad Duchess of Cornwall was ‘poked with a stick’ by a demonstrator. It was positively revolutionary! Tim’s great friend David Gilmour‘s son was photographed hanging off the cenotaph (our national war memorial) great! Polly and David are very embarrassed, the son, apparently…isn’t.
The Duchess of Cornwall poked with a stick..like something dead in the road.
What else have I been up to? Good God…the most beautiful man in Wheelers last night. A cabby from Essex. 29 years old, navy blue eyes and the reddest lips. I resisted taking his number but I know for sure that once a path is crossed it will cross again. He was beautiful. We chatted on Whitstable High Street and you know when a man looks directly into your eyes…you know that feeling.
What else? Went to local farmer’s market and bought a shoulder of goat for dinner this week.
Keith, when we got home this evening, gave me a pot of Medlar jelly that he made with fruit he found at a friends country house..it had a wonderful taste. Another strange coincidence ? Only this week I learned what a medlar was. Now I have a pot of it.
We ate stilton and delicious Christmas cake made by his boy friend of six years.
Driving to Paris tomorrow to get rid of car as the hospital treatment kicks in on Tuesday. Can’t say that I am looking forward to it but hey ho.