Christmas in Oxford

Christine, Ganeal, Rapheal and I have been installed at an apartment up the road. It is a very new large apartment with two large bedrooms, bathrooms and a very sleek finish. We are pretenting that we are young lawyers and that we have well paying jobs thus enabling us to live in an apartment with a heated towel rack, an invisible (built into the cabinetry) fridge and beautiful wall paper. Ho hum! When we were quite rested we walked down the hill to Sandy and Benny's and they fired up the baby Gaggia and that little darling takes care of us all.

Christmas Eve was a big walk along the Thames over the bridges, across the locks and along the tow roads. Christine thought we might find a body and was prepared to call Inspector Morse or Miss Marple, but this proved unnecessary. We picked up the seafood at the covered market and the fruit and vegetables at the uncovered market. I kept an eye out for Prince Charles possibly selling the organic veggies that he grows himself, but was disappointed. I branched out and went off to a few op shops because the second hand books are great. James has pointed me in the direction of the best secondhand bookshop in Oxford. God help me when I get there. Eventually, we all wound our way back to the house for oysters, aoli made by a French man, gammon (smocked baked leg of pork), figs and sweet wine.

Christmas day was a late start with us guests emerging from the gatehouse strolling down to the mainhouse for coffee, then more walking along the Thames. The extended family and workmates arrived and the topic of conversation involved really complex mathematics whereby the amount if time it takes to cook a turkey the size of a three year old, the amount of time it takes to prepare potatoes to be cooked in turkey fat, and all the other variables had to be calculated. There was no fighting but you know how it is when people like me try to relate to numbers. Presents were unwrapped, party hats were donned, bon bons were pulled and glasses clinked all around. The highlight was the delightful company, Sandy's cousin and family proving to be champion conversationalists.

Then the real tradition began: the watching of the Dr Who Christmas special. The hierarchy of the seating arrangment was announced and everyone piled into the loungeroom to watch. Luckily Katerine Tate was not on screen, so I coped. Somehow we missed the queen's Christmas greeting.