Yet another year

Yet another year, thinks Granny. Hasn't she seen too many already and don't they all come in and out so fast? Time was when 1984 seemed mythical....it still does seem mythical but as part of the past - a long ago past as far as the younger members of her family are concerned; George Orwell isn't in there anymore, and Big Brother is a trivialised figure these days. And, anyway, here she is in 2008, like it nor not.

Not like, much, at the moment: she has a cold caught from Beloved Daughter who caught it from Beloved Son-in-Law who didn't catch it from Beloved's Beloved Daughter who was suffering from an independent one, but suffering just the same. It's been that sort of Christmas - two Christmases as far as Granny is concerned: Beloved's Beloved daughter + partner came for three days before Christmas and wanted to celebrate a mini-Christmas with Granny and Beloved - Granny's type of Christmas what's more, involving birds, chestnut stuffing and mincepies rather than Beloved's more advanced and tradition-despising ideas involving roast kid etc. So that was one Christmas and two nights later came another of Granny's traditional kinds - roast kid doesn't seem popular round here except with Beloved... So she's been busy. The mince pies and the chestnut stuffing were delicious as always. The chickens on the other hand.... Granny had, very virtuously, purchased two free range birds from the farmer on the hill to the north who supplies her free range lamb every now and then. Unfortunately their ranging had been so free - 'the Paula Radcliffes of the chicken world' was beloved daughter's version - that, roasted, it was hard to get anyone's teeth into their flesh. They made delicious stock though and that and the meat once much longer cooked made an excellent traditional fricassee of the kind Granny's mother used to make; everyone came, saw, ate and pronounced it delicious - even Beloved: 'of its kind,' he said, a little grudgingly, still hankering after roast kid.

Beloved is not in very good odour at the moment. Turned out leaking roof was partly due to his declining to buy the expensive paint with which it should be fixed - or to allow working time for it: new paving for one patio and new chicken houses came first. Not that Granny knew anything about this until Mr Handsome explained the issue whereupon she made a very loud noise and sent him out with necessary large sum of money to buy the paint. Problem is: it needs a long dry spell before paint can be applied..... Well, we'll see. Beloved in further doghouse because he crossed one white line too many while driving - the powers that be have been painting white lines on roads all over the island to try and reduce the appalling accident figures in Spanish territories. Since dawdling behind dawdling tourists is not Beloved's thing, he tended to ignore the white lines dismissing Granny's protests when she was with him that this was illegal, saying he could see, that it was quite to safe to pass...etc. Which it was on the whole: he's a good driver. Not that the authorities conceded that when he was reported: and was not only given a 300 euro fine but also had his licence removed for a month. Granny and Beloved do not live in a place where it is possible to do what needs to be done without a car. Too far from public transport for one thing. WHAT public transport?

Go figure. Granny has been doing a lot of driving. Beloved is not exactly contrite: Beloved does not do contrite: is even still suggesting someone else might have been driving his truck on the day in question - like who? Granny herself was in England at the time.

But there you go. And a merry enough Christmas was had by all, despite: Granny had some goodly presents, the best one of all from the BBC. Radio 3 is now available again from their digi-box. She can listen to its music again. WHOOPEE!! She does listen too. Last Thursday everyone else being out, she heard the last act of the Valkyrie, her favourite part of all the Ring Cycle, of all opera maybe, for her one of the greatest works of Western art ranking along side Valazquez' Las Meninas and Middlemarch - sorry, folks, she makes no bones about liking - loving - these things: she's a highbrow she is despite all her mother's warnings that being highbrow would put men off, would never get her a husband. (Actually it got her three, in a manner of speaking, so her mother wasn't right about that one.)

And she's not all bad. She's addicted to the Archers isn't she? And she did sneak a hearing of Beloved Eldest Granddaughter's Led Zeppelin CD and Beloved son-in-law is going to pass on to her a copy of Robert Plant and Alison's Krauss' C D. Eclectic she; not just highbrow.

Oh and the sun's out. And the grass here is not only green but ever greener and the wild marigolds are beginning to show their beautiful yellow faces all over.

Hope you all have an eclectic New Year. Highbrow and eclectic for ever. As for wild marigolds.... Granny wishes everyone lots and lots of those. And Wagner too. But only if you want him. She's kind like that.