I have been thinking about Darius, the artist. Friends tell me I should not feel guilty, but it is hard, as we were all totally so unaware, and our lives were carrying on as normal upstairs for a week after his death. I have just discovered he was 53, born in Abadan, Iran and had a website about his work and gallery. Discussed it with Dorothy and Julian last night. Apparently the shop had to be broken into for some reason.
There was some enthusiasm for some of my less wise Ebay purchases, i.e. furs, which Julian bore away with glee in a large bag, and also found a pair of suitable gloves from my growing collection. Useful now the weather has become colder and leaves a bit more space in the house. Dorothy has managed to get my Spanish snaps into my computer, so I am tidying these up now.We were discussing Christmas and have opted for our usual very quiet celebration here. We shall have pheasant as usual, but will replace Christmas cake with the new boiled orange cake. Julian will help me find a tree, perhaps in Borough Market, and the other essential is some Pandoro, much preferred by us to the generally more popular Pannettone. I suspect some marrons glace will be required, too.
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