Nadolig a Nôs Calan

Back from Blighty after a spot of grandchild duty in London. Even the stories of epic nappy-fillers didn't stop the BH from being a teeny-weeny bit jealous of the time I had 'having a shot'. I have to admit that being around with a child at that age, when development is so fast and gratifying, is a real joy.

Here Xmas was had without me, but with the other son to the rescue (including to share in the culinary delights: no mean contribution) it was not as lonely as it could have been. My Xmas involved walking from Hampstead Heath to Kennington and back, as there was no public transport. Actually, walking across an almost carless city, greeted periodically by folk wishing you a Merry Christmas, is a good way of getting in form for, and recovering from, excessively good food.

Here, New Year's Eve was signalled as usual, at Midnight, with the sounding of the hooters and sirens of the big yachts in the harbour. It gave the BH a peculiar satisfaction to hear the tinny excuses for foghorns on some of the really sumptuous, mastodontic vessels, as if the vicious meanness, which had given rise to the mega-fortunes in the first place, had survived the instinct for opulent display and competitive garishness lavished on the yachts, and had surfaced in a detail, a cost-cutting, cheese-paring worry over the expense of safety equipment.

This morning, after overnight thunderstorms, the sea was really rough, with spray coming over the ramparts, despite the complete absence of wind. The onshore wind of the storm had brought in huge quantities of driftwood, flotsam and especially Posidonia seaweed, rendering the waters close to the shore black and tarry, as if in the aftermath of an oil spillage. Perfect weather, then, for a bit of daft dooking. A band of hardy swimmers, ranging from ten year olds to great grand-dads, braved the waters, or rather sludge, assisted by a crowd of well-wishers, a local politician, and a complete team from the French Red Cross. The best performance came from the great grand-dad, who didn't seem keen to get out of the water, and could be observed, swimming in an exaggeratedly slow-motion crawl, far out to sea, on his own.