Monday 5th January 2015

So we say Goodbye to Christmas for another year and begin the long but glorious progress up the side of the new year towards Glydnebourniana and Tuscany as always before the descent down the other side towards next Christmas. Let’s just hope and pray that waists remain low, trousers narrow and jackettes jackette-like.

Now I glance back at this gone Christmas, over which arched The Shepherd’s Farewell by Berlioz.

On the 1st Day of Christmas, Anthony Mottram described his perfume. He said he read about it in an Indian magazine. You take Dettol and boil it with cinnamon, cardamon and any other ‘mons’ you happen to have.

On the 2nd Day of Christmas, the Gay Mother said she agreed with Dame Warnock. It’s good fun being old because you can remember so much

On the 3rd Day of Christmas our private vicar as well as the Archbishop of Canterbury were taken with pneumonia: as always connected to the top. We hope for their recovery.

On the 4th Day of Christmas, Mrs Bone, my childhood cleaner, now in her fourth year in the Care Home, asked if I, Adrian Edge, have a girlfriend. I said nothing.

On the 5th Day of Christmas, Rufus Pitman, who among many things is a hand-writing expert, said the President Obama’s hand is dead below the line, which means no interest in sex. Probably why he’s got on so well, except previous Presidents have been round-the-clock bonkeurs.

On the 6th Day of Christmas, Harry Rollo cited artistic differences. One who he performs with is anti-Hapsburg, but Harry is pro. Their interpretation could tend in different directions, even though their perf, about a peasant who dies in the snow (complete with origami snowflakes) isn’t obviously about the Hapsburgs at all. It is vital, of course, to be either pro- or anti-Hapsburg

to be con’t