Lovely present, better future

Allegedly, it's better to give than to receive. Reckon that's all very relative to the circumstances... Must have been a good girl this year, as I've been on the receiving end of some lovely things from some lovely people - thank you all, but especially:

My favourite old china from my favourite old china, Blondie

(this crockery is called Gaytime - makes for

interesting searches on Ebay)

A wonderful tome about disappearing shop frontages in NYC

from Mr Lane - typography heaven

The sweetest (they're very old, not vintage) Japanese salt

and pepper pots from dear Mr Rogers

Library Christmas loan from Les French - suggestion that

it might keep me warm on a cold night whilst they're away

(Taschen The Big Penis Book: trust me, Ladies - once you've seen one,

you really haven't seen them all)

Amidst the piles of chocolates/hankies/bottles of booze, there appeared an unfeasibly kind and daftly extravagant bit of technology kit from Blunt Santa (big gratitude for making my life better in more ways than one, Boss/Friend).

Despite all these treats, the very finest gift of all wasn't something from "fatty with his sack of shit" (best Christmas album ever, after Phil Spector obviously, has to be A John Waters Christmas - thanks to BBH Aine). It didn't come down a chimney either.

No, but it did turn up in a stocking. Two, in fact. Attractive surgical stockings, delivered via a Toyota Yaris sled, courtesy of the kindness of top surgeon-cum-Santa Mr Rhodes of Bradford Royal Infirmary (thank you, HDU and Ward 19). It was beautifully wrapped in M&S pyjamas, and arrived just in time for The Queen's Speech and a Christmas lunch to be cherished for years to come. The most unexpected and perfect present we could have wished for. (Sadly, I fucked it up on the sprouts front, but pulled it all back with my spectacular pickled onion gravy - don't ask.)

Je Ne Regrette Rien (apart from the snoring)

A while back, part of my family asked me if I'd like to accompany them to the south of France on holiday. I was so touched to be asked that I said yes. I got back from les vacances avec famille today. Things I have learnt this week include:

• Some people play drum and bass and raging techno at breakfast time. These people have now been introduced to John Martyn and Nick Drake.
• Some people wear aftershave. Lots of it.
• Some people snore very loudly. When they're sharing a room. And are lucky not to be smothered in the middle of the night.
• Some people want to watch television when they are on holiday in France. English television via satellite. Programmes like GMTV, Emmerdale Farm and that hospital thing on the BBC.
• Some people are related to me. And I love them regardless.

France is quite lovely. Spectacular countryside. Went to Monaco for the day, as Bro-In-Law is a Grand Prix fan. I never expected a road tunnel to create so much excitement in a 58 year old man.


But I got to see the Casino, which is a lovely example of Art-Nouveau-era architecture, so all was not lost. 

There's an awful lot of dosh floating around in Monaco - literally. Massive yachts fill the harbour, virtually every other car is a Bentley. Liked this little ship best:

Did a bit of pottering about - popped out to the village shop one day, and saw this fella watching the world go by from his balcony:

Un trés cool chien. He couldn't have been any cooler if he'd been wearing Raybans and smoking Gauloises.

I also played with my great-nephew (GREAT??? Who are you - Miss Havisham? You sound about a hundred). He is very cute, as small human beings go:

My niece's snoring became such a problem, I went to the pharmacy to see if I could get some earplugs. The conversation included me saying "je veux acheter quelque choses pour me aider pas d'ecoute" which I thought was pretty good. She seemed to be getting the picture, when I hit her with the pièce de resistance, "l'autre fille dans ma chambre - elle *insert loud imitation of snoring*, at which the lady laughed out loud and went into a drawer and pulled out some ear plugs. Result.

I read (again) Robert Graves' autobiography "Goodbye To All That". I swear I could read this book every year. I might have to ration it. And I listened to lots of Zep, Vetiver, Black Mountain, Cave Singers, John Martyn...and Smog, who I've only just discovered and I am a bit in love with his voice already.

All in all, a few days well spent. If my sister Liz were still alive, she'd have loved it. Even the snoring and the techno.