HAPPY NEW YEAR

From George and Anna

Why do you think about jumping in lifts? Who would want to jump in a lift? This would not be normal behaviour. One could well as ask why do you in this country call an elevator lift? But one does not waste her time asking such questions. 

And why do you worry about going on somewhere when you die? Why not be concentrated on going as many places as possible whilst here. There are many places to go. I have been to many places but hoping to go to many more.

A good night was enjoyed last night. Was this not so?

And also I have been thinking it maybe is alright to publish that selfie which is not really a selfie but who is to argue such fine a point.

I have been thinking about topic for final dissertation and come up with working title to be discussed with tutor. This is: The repressed sexual energy of the English: how this has been channeled into conquering other countries.

I may change mind before returning to university.

Do not you think, Georgie, it is time you were returning to the writing? You have lazied about for long and now need be thinking productively. You have three novels, all unfinished, plus the book on poetry you are saying you will publish. What you need is deadlines. Deadlines very important. Else you say, oh I will do this and I will do that, but if you do not specify when you do them they never do get done.

Please be getting one's arse in gear (English idiom I learn from tutor)

Anna

Science for Beginners

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I was thinking in bed this morning: Suppose you are in a lift, going down, and you jump up in the air - what will happen?

Well, I don't think anything will happen because you are travelling at the same speed as the lift.

But suppose, as you jumped, the lift suddenly stopped. Then what would happen? Would you land harder? Or would you shoot up to the ceiling of the lift?

Any ideas?

I was also thinking: The universe is made of stuff. We are made of stuff - the same stuff. The amount of stuff never increases, and it can't be destroyed. So, in a sense, we can never 'die'.

But what about the way the stuff is arranged in a pattern that I call ME and the pattern I experience as YOU? What happens to those patterns when we 'die'.? Do they somehow hang around as patterns or do they break up and the bits go to form other patterns?


Anna is right, I was born in a two up, two down, terraced house in a mining village. This is well documented in my (as yet unpublished) autobiography. I was often awakened by the sound of miners' clogs as the early  (6 am) shift clattered past my bedroom window.

Most of my uncles were miners. I could never understand why they kept on going down the pit even though we had plenty of coal in the shed.

My dad used to be a miner but he packed it in after witnessing a man get killed by a runaway tub, deep underground. He told me that he swore to himself, there and then, that if he ever saw daylight again he would never go back down the pit. He never did.

Mining as a career did not appeal to me, so I joined the armed forces. And when I came out of the military, it was then that I experienced the pleasures of the big house we called Wynorin. But you will have to read my autobiography to know more about that.

Christmas with George


Of course nothing is it like the Christmas in my homeland, which is Sweden. But never mind. One cannot have everything - although why not? I ask myself.

No snow falls in this part of England in which I am currently domiciled. There is some frost and ice but also a lot of wet weather. This is why English countryside is so green - always it is raining.

But this does not matter as long as you are with the one you love. Which in my case is currently George.

This story he has written he says is based upon boyhood memory but this I do not think is the truth. I think instead is how George would have liked childhood to be. Because he has told me he is born in what they call two up and two down room house in small terrace in mining village. This house lacks indoor lavatory facilities and also central heating, having instead coal fires (because there is so much coal to be had in a mining village).

But we are having splendid Christmas with plenty of food and wine. And is very cosy. George does not drink as much of the alcohol as he formerly does. He can get all the highs he want from me! This is what I tell him.

We exchange presents on the morning of Christmas. And later visit brother Hector (George brother) for the Christmas luncheon. Hector's ex wife Myra is there. They have most amiable divorce and so are able to take advantage of each other, which is good. This also mean that Hector does not try the amorous advances towards me in presence of Myra. Which is good for him because I would punch him a blow to the groinal area, like I did last time we met. But we all have good happy time this year.

George has fallen asleep by fire and his mouth is open. This is not a festive sight but I shall wake him when I finish this post.

I have finished it.

Anna 

Happy Christmas to all our readers

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Thanks for you comment, Mr Adams, and a Merry Christmas to you and yours - and to all in the colonies,

Memories of a Boyhood Christmas

I stepped down from the train. Snow was falling thickly. Yes it was going to be a white Christmas – just like the ones we used to know. In fact I’d been dreaming of a white Christmas with every card I’d written, and now my dream was to come true

Wilkins was waiting for me with the one-horse open sleigh, and it was such fun to ride across the fields, dashing through the snow, listening to the sleigh bells jingling. A veritable winter wonderland

.

I hope there are hot chestnuts roasting on an open fire – I said to Wilkins.

Oh, yes, master George, and the hall is decked with boughs of holly.

Tra la la la la – I enthused. For tis the season to be jolly.

Tra la la la la – responded Wilkins.

And I suppose mother will have a glass of hot toddy ready? For Jack Frost has been nipping at my toes.

Cook will serve the hot toddy master George; your mother is out in the village taking food to the poor of the parish.

But surely there are no poor people these days? I queried.

Immigrants! Sniffed Wilkins, disapprovingly.

Come, Wilkins, I reproached  – Good will toward men.

Tra la la la la, replied Wilkins, rather unenthusiastically.

Yes, we are going to have a very merry Christmas, Wilkins. We’ll make the Yuletide bright, very soon our troubles will be out of sight.

Wilkins perked up – Yes, and old friends who are dear to us, will be near to us once more.

That reminds me, I said, I hope cousin Elsie will be coming for Christmas? For twas in in the Springtime, when last we met. When birds did sing, hey ding a ding a ding.

Hey ding a ding indeed: said Wilkins: Cousin Elsie has already arrived – and seems to have put on weight since her last visit.

She’ll have to go easy on the plum pud, eh Wilkins: I joshed

I fear she will have to go easy on everything, master George: vouchsafed the old coachman: considering the somewhat delicate condition in which she finds herself.

Good Lord, Wilkins: I expostulated: you don’t mean she’s…

Seven months I would say: nodded Wilkins, sagely

I was about to ask him to slow down as I was experiencing one of my giddy spells, but then we rounded a bend and the house came in sight.

When we arrived I quickly downed two large glasses of Cook’s hot toddy. How she gets away with making that stuff without a licence I shall never know. Then, fortified somewhat, I went to talk with father; only to be informed by Mrs Browning that he would not be here for Christmas; the Foreign Office having sent him on a fact-finding tour of Thailand. I was crestfallen, but at the same time proud to have a father whose duties to his country came before his own pleasures

.

I glanced through the window; although almost dark, the curtains had not been drawn, and I could see that the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even. And I could just make out a figure, bent double with with a sack on his back, trudging through the snow. 

I called Mrs B to come and stand by me: If you know please tell me - Yonder fellow, who is he? I. And what is he doing on our land.

Sir, he is a goodly man, gathering winter fuel, replied the housekeeper.

An immigrant, more like, I retorted. And then, remembering this was the season for goodwill toward one’s fellow man I added: Then we shall not charge him for the logs he collects. Get Wilkins to go out and wish him a Merry Christmas.

Just then mother came in, her face flushed from the cold weather, though she had a merry twinkle in her eye. Behind her stood a tall stranger with a beard and a brooding face.

George, this is Borris, she said. He comes from a far off land called Uzbekistan, to seek gainful employment in our country. Unfortunately he does not speak the language so I have offered to give him English lessons. He will be staying with us over Christmas. Won’t that be fun? He can be a chum for you – that is when I am not giving him lessons.

A tear came unbidden into my eye, as I realised how lucky I was to have a mother who was prepared to give unstintingly of her time and hospitality a complete stranger.

And yes, it would be fun to have a chum. I could teach him to play Monopoly. Yes, this was going to a great Christmas.  

Then I remembered Elsie and I wondered if I should speak to mother. But she had gone upstairs to show Borris his bedroom.

So I went into the kitchen in search of Cook and her hot toddy. Cook is such a jolly lady and, clasping me to her ample bosom, she gave me a big kiss – which quite took my breath away. In fact she was still kissing me when Elsie waddled into the kitchen. Cook let me go, wiping a trace of lipstick from my face with the hem of her pinny.

Could we have a word, George? Said Elsie – in private.

Certainly, I replied – when I had got my breath back. I followed her into the drawing room, a strange sensation in my stomach (probably the hot toddy). Yes, this was going to be a real family Christmas.