Ahem,
Alli was looking after Nanny Miles, as well as family dogs Jax and Max, for the first two weeks of the month while Nick was away. She came back for one night and day at the hinge weekend to deliver and co-host a superb gourmet curry feast for our neighbours. Alli filled no less than four large pots of four different curries (each of which would have been plenty for everybody). Since Alli only tasted a small amount of one of the curries, the main work of consumption had to be done by me and the four neighbours, two of whom were not big eaters. But after repeatedly consuming loaded plates of curry, rice, dahl, chutneys, and raita, the amount remaining in the pots appeared largely unchanged. The posh shop-bought starters were not nearly as tasty as the main course, but prosecco had flowed freely to aid digestion. It proved that Alli is a true masterchef for all seasonings and courses and also that lively and stimulating conversation is utterly consistent with gourmandise. The next day I delivered a heavy carry-out bag to Ella and Sam containing more than a dozen giant helpings of the four curries for them to enjoy over the next few weeks and months, if not years.
Jessie and Jurrat have been in Ethiopia and Malawi, visiting old friends, and have been luxuriating to a high standard of excellence in food and accommodation in Addis Ababa, Lilongwe. and in Monkey Bay on Lake Malawi during their short stay. A safari day in Liwonde yielded a priceless haul of memorable sightings of wild animals, including lions, elephants, and even a black rhino who lumbertrotted past them. They were also able to visit Toleza farm and received a warm welcome from the managers, before being taken for a tour of the surrounding area.
Gwen was given a £100 voucher to be used in her favourite Brighton restaurant and asked Alli and me to come to dinner with her to use it up. This seemed an excellent idea, so off we went to Bonsai and had a remarkable dinner consisting of their legendary small plates of delicious vegan food, many tasting uncannily of meat, courtesy of our thoughtful and youngest daughter. Once again I had the fortune to find a parking space nearby, although once we parked it was revealed to be a unloading area. But it was evening. I decided to risk it. On returning after the dinner, I saw a fateful ticket tucked in by the wipers. My heart sank but it wasn’t a ticket; it was the irate resident’s rude handwritten note which I read out with a mix of guilt and relief in the car to much hilarity. After all, it was preferable to the sticks and stones of Brighton Council’s traffic wardens. On the following Sunday, Alli and I hosted Jessie, Ella, and their husbands plus grand-daughter Lily for a roast lunch on a day of autumnal sunshine and high winds. Lily was of course the centre of attention and she remained more or less contented and photogenic throughout the afternoon, despite being cradled in succession by everyone there.
African English has always fascinated me. The English used by English-language speakers in African countries is often elegant, classical, and old-fashioned, using words and phrases that have long gone out of use in Britain. I recently received a note from an African friend about a burglary that occurred ‘yesternight’, and wondered why such an excellent word was not used in modern Britain. Its antecedent is an Old English word giestraniht, which became archaic in Middle English and almost extinct in modern English. Nevertheless, it is in regular use in English-speaking Africa and India and may have been re-born there through literal necessity. It also appears in Shakespeare (of course) and the King James Bible, as well as in Walter Scott novels, and apparently even in Emily Brontë’s work. A related word is ‘yestreen’, meaning yesterday evening.
The month continued with October’s annual teasing uncertainty with days of sunshine, heavy storms, yo-yo temperatures, and misty mornings. I went with Ella to Sheffield Park for an invigorating walk around the park with Lily in the pram on a sunny day and at a particularly popular time to see the flowers and trees, and stayed for a bowl of lentil soup in the cafe. Max continues to enjoy life in the slow lane and Alli and I take turns to walk him in the mornings around Uckfield’s many green spaces, such as West Park (see masthead photo). Our house was popular at Halloween, with our elegant multi-coloured pumpkin (placed carefully to trip up pedestrians). Alli’s fitness was tested in opening the door to 18 separate group visits of child-like ghouls and their gothic guardian parents over 90 minutes, all welcomed with a deep bowl of assorted confectionary. According to a venerable family tradition, I was mostly in the pub.
My publishers have sent me a rare letter about how the progress of their editing is ‘on track’ but offer no direct evidence of it. I am instructed to wait until they have decided what the edits are. I have neither seen nor heard anything of credible substance in almost five months of near-silence, apart from a woeful mock-up of a jacket cover and a curious rechristening of Chapter 1: Mardi Gras as, alarmingly, ‘Prologue’. We are agreed only on the importance of selling the book, and little else. But perhaps that’s enough. I have no idea. I just know that I will eventually expire from the collective impact of one-way digitalism. Nobody wants feedback about anything in these days of boast, bludgeon, and bloviation. I am a long way from the dusty editorial and production offices of Routledge & Kegan Paul in the sepia halcyon of 1978.
Brace! Brace!
Lionel