Dear All by Helen Carr

Dear All

Dear All, as  promised a warts and all Christmas catch up. I was going to say round robin but my daughter (Bizz, Ph. D pending) tells me that round robin doesn’t mean what most people now think it to mean. At least we can always depend on our children to put us right. Something about Middle English poetry, her doctorate, that is. She is having a marvellous time in Cambridge, living with her barrister partner who earns gadzillions an hour, and lounging around libraries doing research. She has already been offered a book deal by the top publisher in the field. Middle English…who knew!!!

Laurence is still committed to taking the cloth, if that’s the right expression – will have to check with Bizz, ha ha – anyway, he’s learning to be a vicar. We were a bit worried about this for a while, wondering where we had gone wrong as parents, as he was brought up in an atheist household. However, he has already caught the eye of the Archbishop of Canterbury and is due to give a sermon somewhere significant, I forget where. No partner apparent for Laurence at time of writing – as I told him, wearing a dog collar to the pub could put off a lot of girls, but he just laughed. He is flat sharing with a friend called Colin who is French (please pronounce Colin with French accent) and eats a lot of salad. Colin is coming to us for Christmas this year.

Bizz will be here too, for the day only of course – she says it’s as much as she can stand. I don’t blame her, I’m somewhat anxious about entertaining two divinity students single handed, I must admit. I say single handed – I think you all know how anti social my dear spouse is – he will probably disappear into a good book and refuse to surface until the boys have gone. Hardly boys, of course, and mature enough, I hope, to take in good spirit the present which Bizz has got for them. It’s a cheese grater with the image of our Lord (their Lord actually) on the cutting face, and is called Cheesus Christ. I feel blasphemous even telling you about it, but I did promise a warts and all account of our family doings. No hagiographies here this year!!!

Now, where was I…oh yes, Alice, our eldest, is already with us as she and her darling daughter May were evicted from their flat by a heartless landlord. Before I sat down to write, I was washing up, with little May standing on a chair beside me at the sink. She found a herb tea bag which had lingered in a mug and proceeded to pull it apart, talking to herself all the while. What are you doing, my sweetheart, I said. She replied, playing babies’ nappies. Aren’t children wonderful!!!

Merry Christmas to one and all from spouse and me. We are looking forward to getting back to our  books and armchairs as soon as this wretched festive season is over.