Category: Local

Top Cat, Call Me CB

The royal wedding somehow reminded me of Tancredi’s betrothal to Angelica in The Leopard and the famous quotation: “se vogliamo che tutto rimanga come e’, bisogna che tutto cambi”.

Barons Court in Bloom

At this time of year one’s thoughts turn to gardening. My brother mounts his ride-on mower, Rosemary and Ann attend to the gardens at Barmeath and I browse the horticultural section of my bookshelf.

Mandarin

In the good old days, which actually weren’t that good, lots of French families lived around South Kensington because of the Lycée. As property prices rose they moved further west getting as far as Barons Court. Aspirational British parents enrolled their children alongside French families to make them bilingual, although it did the little darlings… Continue reading Mandarin

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Trexit

This is not an April Fool – I wish it were. Today is the first day of Trexit when Hammersmith and Fulham leaves the tri-borough of H&F, Kensington and Chelsea and Westminster.

Of Mice and Men

I had a belated St Patrick’s Day dinner on Thursday.  One of the diners furnished us with shamrock (above) expertly bunched by his wife. Another, who came from West Meath, turned out to be a lapsed member of the Irish Peers’ Association, a prospective member of the PG Wodehouse Society and a reader of this… Continue reading Of Mice and Men

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Ten Things To Do List

1. Write thank you letter to Alistair for inviting me to the Hotel Chocolat last week. Here’s the bar of chocolate I made. Looks like a dog mess but I won’t stress that in my letter.

Local Notes

1. Periwinkle, planted in 1984, seems indestructible. It has spent months buried under building materials over the years and gets trampled on by me and the bin men.

Gathering Winter Fuel

Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen, when the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even. Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel, when a poor man came in sight, gathering winter fuel.

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News from Home & Abroad

Tuesday morning was deliciously quiet. Why, as I get deafer, should I notice and bask in quietness? Perhaps I should move to the country?

Travesties

Do not fancy that an intermission of writing is a decay of kindness. No man is always in a disposition to write; nor has any man at all times something to say. (Johnson: Letter to Boswell)