Several weeks ago we stayed at a hotel to attend an anniversary dinner. When I unpacked my dinner jacket I found that I had packed the left foot from one pair of shoes and the right from another. One pair, as this photo, shows, employed laces, the other buckles. The chances are that no one other than Heidi noticed. I look back on the episode with a certain perverse pleasure.
In Chapel Place there is a banqueting room in a former school hall. It is a pleasant building, simply and elegantly restored. Through the window, I see the room full of round tables set for a Christmas meal. The sight of the white table-clothes, wine-glasses, china and silver and the promise of imminent festivity, strikes me as being almost better than the meal to come.
Today I begin to write Christmas cards. The first to be dealt with are for those who live abroad. Next come old people, because old people, among whom I must include myself, invariably send Christmas cards before younger and busier people. Old people have an added incentive to send them to others of their generation, with whom they are not regularly in touch: the card becomes a tacit way of saying: "Hallo, I'm still alive. Are you?"
2 comments:
I've gone to NY to meet with publishers wearing 2 different colored socks and once shoes of identical style but 2 different colors, but you win this category hands down.
Love the entire post.
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