So, having gotten that off my chest, let me add that we’re going away for Christmas, to a country hotel halfway to Lisbon. We shall be away from Sunday to Wednesday and, quite possibly, out of cyber-contact during that time. (Horrors! I don’t know that I shall survive it.)
TREES IN A STORMMore to the point, it’s been raining, some real, serious rain, which we needed so badly and for which we’re very grateful. I don’t know to whom; we’re just grateful. We had 40 mms last night, along with showers yesterday and more today. If the timing isn’t ideal, we’re not complaining. It’s more important to renew our ground water than to please festive partygoers and people arriving for Christmas breaks.
Jones has been entertaining her Portuguese lady neighbours to a festive tea. I fetched the ladies concerned in the car so as to spare them from the weather – and then dropped them off at home again, close by. They were a bit taken aback when Ono hopped into the car beside them but only for a moment. He sat up straight in his most winning way and peered intently through the windscreen, as he does, and soon had them eating out of the back of his paw.
One of the guests told us how her husband had had his mobile phone lifted from his belt while he was waiting in a supermarket queue. He’d noticed a couple of suspicious looking characters behind him but didn’t miss the phone till he got home.
Instead of telling you about our other various get-togethers, I’m going to borrow some prose from other authors. Before I do that though, let me mention that during one of our restaurant outings,
I went to the loo and was astonished at the arrangement I found there. One would really have had to be an athlete in order to make full use of the facilities. I took a picture that I shall stick up on the blog.
Meanwhile, this text arrived on a Christmas Card – attributed to John Cage’s Indeterminacy series – my first introduction to him - and I think it’s brilliant; I mean to read his other brief essays ASAP. (http://www.lcdf.org/indeterminacy/first.html)
A crowded bus on the point of leaving Manchester for
Stockport was found by its conductress to have one
too many standees. She therefore asked, “Who was the
last person to get on the bus?” No one said a word.
Declaring that the bus would not leave until the
extra passenger was put off, she went and fetched
the driver, who also asked, “All right, who was the
last person to get on the bus?” Again there was a
public silence. So the two went to find an
inspector. He asked, “Who was the last person to get
on the bus?” No one spoke. He then announced that
he would fetch a policeman. While the conductress,
driver, and inspector were away looking for a
policeman, a little man came up to the bus stop and
asked, “Is this the bus to Stockport?” Hearing that
it was, he got on. A few minutes later the three
returned accompanied by a policeman. He asked, “What
seems to be the trouble? Who was the last person to
get on the bus?” The little man said, “I was.” The
policeman said, “All right, get off.” All the people
on the bus burst into laughter. The conductress,
thinking they were laughing at her, burst into tears
and said she refused to make the trip to Stockport.
The inspector then arranged for another conductress
to take over. She, seeing the little man standing
at the bus stop, said, “What are you doing there?”
He said, “I’m waiting to go to Stockport.” She said,
“Well, this is the bus to Stockport. Are you getting
on or not?”
EXPATS TO SUPPERI had another story, which I enjoyed just as much, this one a personal account from an old friend, Annelize, a South African journalist whom we met in London many years ago and with whom we have remained friends. It’s a Christmas story and I have her permission to pass it on, which I do in an abridged form. She wrote:
“While I was at university I went to a Carols by Candelight in Greytown (South Africa), held at the high school sports grounds. People had to bring their own chairs or just sit on blankets on the terraces. The dominees (ministers) were down below where an organist played on a Hammond organ borrowed from the hotel.
One of the teachers presented a tableau with live animals to make things more interesting for the children. She got a farmer to bring a flock of sheep and a few donkeys and someone else to construct a crib. A little kid in a nightie climbed into the crib, its head popping up every now and again to see what was going on in the rest of Bethlehem.
We sang a few carols, the sheep stood around sheepishly and the two donkeys seemed to be intrigued by the kid in the crib. Then suddenly a bright spotlight was switched on and focused on a tree on the terrace. It lit up a big star on the tree, as well as an angel, complete with long white robe, wings and halo.
The angel suddenly began to descend down a (foefoe-slide) wire. Halfway down it got stuck. After dangling there for a few seconds, the quick-thinking angel looked down, saw that the ground was not too far away and, pulling up its robe, let go of the wire. It hit the ground and kept going under its momentum towards the crib. With a magnificent leap it managed to spring over the crib and hurtled WHAP! into a donkey. The donkey made a very strange sound and moved off uncertainly to join the sheep. Mistrusting his intentions, these dispersed all over the ground.
You have never heard a group of Christians laugh so much. It was by far the most successful Carols by Candelight Greytown ever had.”
There, that’s a much better story than any I can tell you this week. What else has been happening? Idalecio has spent a day pruning our almond trees. Can’t think of anything else. Happy Christmas!
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