Not the greatest of years. Martyn and I each lost friends of many decades’ standing: John Cruse, Freeman of the City of London, talented artist, goldsmith and teacher, and so much else. Geoff Issott, a formidable linguist, proud Yorkshireman, keen cricketer and uncompromising lefty. Jackie Guild, whom I'd known since she and I were both 5, and whom we'd enjoyed meeting on our trips back to the Ferry, died suddenly at home. Our brother-in-law Michael Bailey, husband of Martyn’s elder sister, died in July. A keen hiker and indefatigable volunteer for more charities and institutions than you can shake a stick at, his funeral at Rochester cathedral was so lavish and well attended that I caught myself thinking ‘state funeral’ once or twice. Shortly after the bastard cancer got Michael, our young neighbour Rowena, of whom we were both very fond, finally succumbed to breast cancer aged only just 39, some ten years from diagnosis, and mere hours after admission to the local hospice. On All Saints’ Day we learned that Martyn’s nephew Tim had been found dead, aged just 51.
As if Martyn’s year hasn’t been bad enough, he has still not fully shaken off the after effects of shingles. If you haven’t been vaccinated against it, kindly do so! Adding to Martyn’s worries, I was diagnosed with cancer at the beginning of the year. I had two stays in hospital, and found our local pesthouse pretty decent for in-patients, thanks to the private en-suite rooms that everyone gets. Following lengthy radio- and chemotherapy in the spring, I had pretty radical surgery in September, and learned a month or so later that it had been successful, requiring no mop-up chemo.
My health issues have rather dominated the year, and kept us close to base. My daily drives to Maidstone for treatment were at the prettiest time of year, so at least I had the pleasure of seeing Kent come back to life after the winter.
Garden
We have obviously not been able to travel this year, so the garden has had attention almost comparable to that of the lockdown years. We grew tomatoes as before: the Sweet Olive variety was as good as ever, but the San Marzanos were a disaster. The former are very tolerant of pot culture, the latter absolutely not. And when we eventually got fruit to ripen on some San Marzano cuttings in the raised bed, the local beasties got to them first. We decided against growing spuds this year, since I wasn’t sure how my treatment would affect my ability to manage them (I needn’t have worried). For similar reasons we bought plug plants this year and grew relatively little from seed. Parker’s supplied nicotianas and rudbeckias, and they have both done very well. We used the dwarf Toto rudbeckia variety this time. Although they have a shorter flowering season than the Rustics we’ve used in the past, they are usefully compact, and don’t need staking. We used Parker’s again for polyanthus and pansies, and most are planted out in pots on the terrace. Out in the conservatory, we have geranium cuttings, taken at the end of October, and plants dug up from where they had been sulking in the garden and in containers.
Arrivals
Our hospitality has been pretty sparse this year, and mostly limited to lunches at home: I was a bit circumspect about eating out while my immune system was getting hammered.
Before that, Annie visited for a few days at New Year after staying with her brother Terry and family over the holidays. Since our railway service is totally unreliable these days, Terry drove her here and we had an enjoyable lunch together. They were back again for lunch in July, together with local friends Celia and Andy. We subjected the Currahs and Rayners to pizzas and stuff, so we’re keeping our hands in! Neighbours Annie and Rowena came in bearing cakes the weekend after coronation day, and Rowena kindly took our portrait in silly 'ats.
Departures
Since I reported last year, we have made only one significant trip: a cruise last December to Spain and Portugal on the Queen Victoria. We had a pretty hellish drive to Southampton in freezing fog: when the cloud lifted for the last bit, we were driving into very low sun on wet roads: a nightmare: the glare was so strong that I couldn't read the instruments. It was a comfort, then, to arrive in A Corunha in mild weather: I stood on the balcony in my dressing gown before dawn to watch the ship mooring. Pleasant city, dripping with history and some quirky architecture and art work, which we had time to explore this time. Thence to Cádiz, where some intrepid Belgian divers tried (and failed) to replace a propeller blade on one of the azipods. That cost us an extra night in Cádiz, and deprived us of a visit to Cartagena, to which we’d been looking forward. Substituting Gibraltar on the way home did not compensate - been there, done that, didn’t like it. We stayed on board, sitting in the bar above the bridge, watching the flights in and out of the airport - and the pedestrians, bikes and cars on the road across the runway between flights. We did get to see and enjoy Malaga for the first time, and our last port of call, Lisbon, was as good as ever (if wet…).
There were lots of little signs of cost-cutting on the QV this time, which I suppose is not surprising given the hit they must have taken during the pandemic. The piano in the Queen’s Room was badly out of tune, which was a shame, given that Matthew McCombie was aboard again. We greatly enjoyed his playing as before, though, and once again had a chance to have a chat. Such a nice fellow. We had planned to be on the QV again in July for a cruise to the fjords, but had to cancel for obvious reasons. We’ve moved the deposit to a similar itinerary next June on the new Queen Anne: perhaps we'll get to enjoy the fjords at the third attempt.
Wheels
Our fleet has not changed, and does few miles. Having recently had the annual bills for insurance, tax, service and MoT, I’m pretty sure it would pay us to use taxis and rent a car when we really need one. But the convenience of being able to get up and go at the drop of a hat is a luxury we can afford. The Egg has taken to refusing to spin its starter on occasions, so that will need investigation at some point. But when it goes it goes like a new car even though it’s in its sixteenth year. The Ateca is frugal, comfortable and plenty fast enough for an old geezer like me: it didn’t miss a beat during my six weeks of daily treatment in Maidstone.
Food and drink
We’re awfully unambitious, and are happy with home cooking. Just as well, given the lengthy lockdown followed by self-imposed purdah this past year. We do occasionally take a trip out for lunch, and wish it to be known that the fish and chips at the Crown, Groombridge are superior to those at the Bill the Conk at Rye Harbour. At home we are making a lot of use of a two-drawer air fryer, even roasting the occasional chicken or half leg of lamb in it. And eggs cooked whole at 130° for 15 minutes save the bother of boiling a pan of water. It works faster than the big oven, and uses less juice. We still bake bread in the oven, preferring loaves baked in a proper tin to the awkwardly shaped one with a hole in the bottom that you get if you bake it in the bread machine. We do use the latter, but only for preparing the dough. Though the San Marzano tomatoes were a failure, the Sweet Olives were their usual exuberant success, so provided numerous lunches, halved, anointed with olive oil, garlic and basil and done in the oven on slices of home-baked baguette. Or done up in a caprese with salad, mozzarella and jamón de serrano.
Arts
Bit of a desert this year, though the need to knock something out for the Christmas card has concentrated our minds! I have reacquainted myself with the acrylics after a long gap: We'd tended only to paint at our Thursday morning art group, which we suspended in the early days of the pandemic, but I've knocked out a pot-boiler for this year's card, and it prints reasonably well. Martyn has found a suitable watercolour in the archives, so we've got the cards printed and ready once I've arranged the mortgage to buy the stamps. Our one trip to the theatre this year was to a local recording of the BBC Kitchen Cabinet radio show. Great fun. And free! But the host makes no effort to dress up for his audience at recording sessions: where I come from, we'd have called him a proper ticket!
2024
The New Year ought to bring some order back into British politics, though at the moment it looks as if things'll get substantially worse before they get better. It’s too much to hope that 2024 will right the wrongs of the past thirteen years of scandal and incompetence, nor the worrying rightward slide into dog-whistle populism. As for the many wars round the world, it’s going to be a nail-biting year at best. A visitor from another planet would boggle at the fact that our species systematically abuses the privilege of living on a fertile and habitable one. Closer to home, we’re hoping that the year will be less packed with sickness and bereavement than 2023. At our age, it’s best to focus on modest comforts, achievements and ambitions in the time we have left. We hope that 2024 will be kind to you and your loved ones - and a bit kinder to us.
Martyn & David
