A Journal

... we will be singing this, but I think that properly it should be sung today. There is some spirited discussion in the comments on YouTube over whether it is being taken too fast. No, say I; this is just about right, but it could stand to be more crisp.



It has been interesting bringing two sets of family rituals together and seeing which we want to keep, which to adapt, and which to discard. There was some debate over the tree, for example - shall we have one? (yes; you can't just decorate a pot plant this year, sorry) real? (yes) with roots? (yes/no - eventually we bought one without roots, but actually it still has some still attached, and removing them with a junior hacksaw proved to be ineffectual, so it's in a pot). Nine Lessons and Carols on the wireless or Carols from King's on the tellybox? (Oh, yes, there is a difference. On the wireless it's live, and is on the wireless - which I prefer; I don't like my attention being directed subject to the cameraman's whim, particularly in a church service.) Also the proper making of Christmas puddings (Barbara Steele trumps Mary Berry, if you ask me - but it'll be the other way around next year). To whom ought one send Christmas cards? Stockings? (No; we're both old enough to be allowed to go to midnight mass.) Large Polish meal on Christmas Eve? (Sure, why not?) And leaving a candle burning while one goes out to midnight mass? (If adequately surrounded with sand, etc, OK.)

Anyway, enough of that. Tomorrow shall be my dancing day. A very happy and peaceful day to you, whatever you're celebrating.

За окном кто-то на аккордеоне исполняет мотив из фильма Амели...
Вот этот...

Центр Парижа Иерусалима...
Я сижу и уплетаю макарон с сыром тунцом ...
Работаю оффицанткой...

Каждый вечер здороваюсь с продавцом овощей цветов , который ласково называет меня "соседка"...

Осталось найти молодого человека со странным увлечением и снять фильм :)

Outside my window it is snowing gently - thin, half-hearted flakes that coat the leaves and leave the pavement clear. There is no robin hopping around, but there was one yesterday, and for all I know he might come back. On my desk there are Christmas cards:

- two featuring Santa Claus
- one featuring a Christmas tree
- one featuring Christmas tree baubles
- one featuring a snowflake
- one featuring a robin
- one is a 'sorry you're leaving' card with weeping kittens and puppies on it
- one featuring some snow-covered trees

You're wanting a rant about this, aren't you? You want me to tell you that the True Meaning of Christmas is being sucked out of the midwinter, and isn't it terrible? You want me to be offended by the lack of angels, shepherds, stars and sentimental BVMs. Sorry - not biting. It is perfectly possible to buy such cards, and the fact that my colleagues haven't felt so moved is not really any of my business. Possibly they think that I would not appreciate it. Anyway, there are two pictures of a saint there.

And would you like to know how many of this sample fail to mention the word 'Christmas'? One. I'll let you guess which one it is. Nobody is being arrested for selling pictures of baby Jesus in the manger, nobody is being ridiculed for sending them, and even the monolithic governmental organisation for which I'm currently working is going mad with political correctness to the extent that we have had precisely... no Stern Warnings about sending religious cards. We even have a Christmas tree.

No, if you really want a seasonal card that I, as a Christian, find offensive, it's this specimen from the Home Office, first brought to my attention by lizw, who had the misfortune to actually receive one of these monstrosities:



Personally, I do not care whether the Home Office feels moved to send a Christmas card or not, but if it does, I would much rather it sent one that wasn't ignoring the whole Christmas message. However insipid, tacky or worldly the secular cards are, they are at least projecting a mesage of general peace and goodwill. Not this one. This rejoices in its own smug inhumanity. See what horrible people we are, it says. Don't you just admire us for our lack of charity?

No room at the inn? Ha ha, you won't find a bed in Britain. Have to leave your country because someone's out to kill you? Forget the flight into England; you might have better luck in inter-testamental Egypt. Sorry, the UK won't take you in. Happy Christmas.

Inspired by anchorhold's posting of the festive Betjeman classic (point thar, I have missed it, I know):

There once was a man who said, 'Damn!
It is borne in upon me I am
But an engine that moves
In predestinate grooves:
I'm not even a bus - I'm a tram!'
- Anon

***

Some say
The Day
Of trams is past
At last.

They mar
The street,
These trams, and are
Effete.

I don't
And won't
Agree.
You see
I am
A tram.
- Guy Boas, Traffic and Theatre Rhymes

You know how this one works: the first line of the first post of every month this year. Subjects included or not, depending on whether the first line makes sense without them.

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