Martin's Christmas Letter 2024
Now settled on the Kent Coast just north-east of Romney Marsh and the long miles of beaches fronting the Engish Channel, Martin ruminates on the State of England as one year ends and more of the same is on the horizon.
It's Christmas 2024, and we're huddled in front of the hearth, into which we've placed a table lamp, whose glow, from its 40 watt bulb, casts a lambent, amber radiance over the room, almost as far as the three Christmas cards on the window ledge, with the envelopes stood behind, showing the £1.75 stamps. One of the cards shows a sunlit, snowy landscape, with cottages, robins and carefree, rosy-cheeked children frolicking. Is frolicking still legal, I wonder. Another shows three wise men who have travelled from Syria, Iran or Afghanistan, bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. We get boatloads of them now, coming ashore near here, but sadly lacking in the gold, frankincense and myrrh department, and not seemingly much interested in the whereabouts of a lowly stable, wherein lies the baby Jesus, but more concerned with directions to the nearest Premier Inn.
We can't get about like we used to, not from old age, but from the hand-knitted thermal long johns and multi-layers of jumpers, trousers and socks we live in. When we feel we deserve a treat, we sit in the car, on the drive, and run the engine so we can put the heater on for a while. It's nearly time for us to watch 'Strictly Come Dancing', a programme from long, long ago, when people dressed in open-neck shirts and skimpy dresses, and danced to cheery music, with beaming smiles, in a huge room full of hundreds and hundreds of lights, all on at the same time. Those were the days
The roaring, shrieking noise from outside might be ballistic missiles passing overhead, celebrating the imminent arrival of Donald Trump to the White House, or the height of Storm Freda trying to tug the tiles off the roof, while throwing sheets of water at our window panes. But, hark! Is that the sound of carol singers at our door? Ah, no, just the siren of another police car zooming past.
Happy Christmas, and a prosperous New Year. We know it's going to be prosperous, because the same nice man who took away our Winter Fuel Allowance says it's going to be. Just wait and see.
It's Christmas 2024, and we're huddled in front of the hearth, into which we've placed a table lamp, whose glow, from its 40 watt bulb, casts a lambent, amber radiance over the room, almost as far as the three Christmas cards on the window ledge, with the envelopes stood behind, showing the £1.75 stamps. One of the cards shows a sunlit, snowy landscape, with cottages, robins and carefree, rosy-cheeked children frolicking. Is frolicking still legal, I wonder. Another shows three wise men who have travelled from Syria, Iran or Afghanistan, bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. We get boatloads of them now, coming ashore near here, but sadly lacking in the gold, frankincense and myrrh department, and not seemingly much interested in the whereabouts of a lowly stable, wherein lies the baby Jesus, but more concerned with directions to the nearest Premier Inn.
We can't get about like we used to, not from old age, but from the hand-knitted thermal long johns and multi-layers of jumpers, trousers and socks we live in. When we feel we deserve a treat, we sit in the car, on the drive, and run the engine so we can put the heater on for a while. It's nearly time for us to watch 'Strictly Come Dancing', a programme from long, long ago, when people dressed in open-neck shirts and skimpy dresses, and danced to cheery music, with beaming smiles, in a huge room full of hundreds and hundreds of lights, all on at the same time. Those were the days
The roaring, shrieking noise from outside might be ballistic missiles passing overhead, celebrating the imminent arrival of Donald Trump to the White House, or the height of Storm Freda trying to tug the tiles off the roof, while throwing sheets of water at our window panes. But, hark! Is that the sound of carol singers at our door? Ah, no, just the siren of another police car zooming past.
Happy Christmas, and a prosperous New Year. We know it's going to be prosperous, because the same nice man who took away our Winter Fuel Allowance says it's going to be. Just wait and see.