December 9th -December 22nd, 2025

The figure on the roof peered into the chimney, then sat atop the steeply pitched tiles and ate a sandwich. Viewed from the garden below, looking like a rather early Santa on his lunch break, disguised in a hoodie…. But up there to replace the lead flashing and -much of the mortar on three sides gone -to re-point the chimney before it fell off and flattened a neighbour…..

Might need a bit of shoring up myself, so had a Dexa scan – to check out the density of my bones after the ‘fragility fall’ in the summer. The result revealed a slightly dodgy hip, but no need for medication. A relief, rattling with enough pills already… But when they measured my height, I was shorter than I used to be – nearly an inch! Which won’t do – want it back.

A few more Festive Lunches, one in Lichfield with my dear art appreciation group in the traditional Red Lion Inn at Longdon. A delight to see them again and the warmth of their welcome meant a lot. Another reunion at St Albans with fellow survivors of Loreto, the private convent school we attended in the late 1950s.

On one very cold and clear evening, joined a friendly huddle of people of all ages – most in woolly hats, some carrying torches. The Residents’ Association’s annual carol singing event. Sang along for a while – ‘t’was the season to be jolly’ – but wasn’t really feeling it, so when the group began to tour the neighbouring streets and we got to ‘we come a-wassailing among the leaves so green,’ I drifted back to The Cottage…

…where on one of the shortest and darkest days of the year, the antiquated heating system which has struggled for weeks, finally gave up the ghost. More repairs a waste of time and money. A back-up immersion set-up would supply hot water as and when and two convector heaters would keep things bearable. One visit here would have to be curtailed, another postponed, but not end of world. Swaddled self with several layers – a thermal vest and cashmere scarf to the rescue – and put the kettle on… not a war baby for nothing….

No ‘decking the halls with boughs of holly’ – never go the full tinsel – but a few tasteful trimmings went on the frames of the many mirrors, more glow than sparkle. But also put in place one of the kitsch- iest products on the planet, patterned with berries and little gold stars: festive toilet paper!

The rose bush behind the picket fence looked a bit bleak, so hung some silvery baubles and sprays of ribbon on the bare, thorny branches. A small child passing by with her mother, looked up at the ‘Christmas tree’, pointed at something that caught her attention and smiled. It was a shining moment. Even in a bitter-sweet season, there’s always one.

Moved into The Cottage exactly a year ago. The longer story-posts will resume in 2026. Every best wish for now, the New Year and way beyond. Love, Tessa

November 26th – December 8th, 2025

The masochist in me sat down and watched the Budget and failed to make sense of it. Savers punished again and yet more tax to pay for yet more spending on something out of control- welfare. That was once meant to be ‘only’ a safety net, which it was for me when my boys were small….

There was no comfort and joy in the town centre either. If it wasn’t Jingle Bells jangling in the shops, it was someone ‘dreaming of a White Christmas’, which seems unlikely in Enfield. But outside M&S, a brass band was playing ‘God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing ye dismay’, the Salvation Army soldiers in their red and black uniform, the instruments lovingly polished. The collection boxes were there, but unshaken. The message was a more truly seasonal one, not about the money.

A far richer friend – in line for ‘mansion tax’- said she’d stopped sending Christmas cards. Not the price of stamps, but’ too much of a chore…’ But I cherish the ritual – consulting the battered address book (a few new additions, many more names crossed out) then choosing a picture that the recipient might like. The theme this year: winter cottages….

The National Portrait Gallery, for a show about Cecil Beaton, (1904 -80), famous for his work in Vogue and movie star and glamour photographs – but it was the cover of Life Magazine in 1940 that spoke then and now: the picture of a small girl, her head bandaged and with a question in her eyes, a casualty of the Blitz.

A Royal visit. A tiny drone flew through the open window into the bedroom and landed with the lightest of touches on my bare arm, but left no sting. I’d forgotten all about the nest under the eaves pointed out to me in the summer. So I rang the Pest People ‘nearest me’, who specialised in cockroaches and bedbugs but also ‘did wasps’. Google said that all the workers were dead by December, so my visitor was probably a Queen!

The first festive ‘do’ – a U3a lunch at The Cricketers, one of my very local pubs. My Beetroot Wellington had an appropriate, rather rubbery texture and there were cheap crackers on the tables. But the company was pleasant and sedate – except for one wonderful woman in her nineties, who wore a wildly jolly jumper with sequinned reindeer rampant across the front…

November 11th – November 25th, 2025

Just back from Portsmouth, where the rain was relentless most of the weekend and the skies a grim and battleship grey. A visit to celebrate my elder son’s birthday. A walk on the seafront with the dog coincided with two demonstrations. One lot – Stand up to Fascism – carried banners that read ‘Refugees are Welcome’. The others – Coastal Patriots – held signs saying Stop the Boats….. ( Felt mildly indignant. I think something should be done about the boats, which hardly makes me a Nazi!) Both sides waved Union Jack and England flags, which stiffened and buckled in the indifferent wind.

It wasn’t my van that was broken into or my precious tools taken…..but another uncomfortably local crime. While Leonardo the handyman was working at another customer’s house, a gang drilled into the door of his Ford Transit and loaded everything into a nearby waiting car. Enfield a hot spot for theft of or from such vehicles, apparently. At my request, the residents’ association kindly sent out a Notice about the incident – but there was no CCTV in the area… The police opened a case -and shut it the same day. ‘No evidence.’

On the Avanti to Stafford – a day trip to the dental clinic – and a nice table seat by the window, but couldn’t quite relax into the journey, because there was a slightly sweaty man in a hoodie sitting across the aisle, a rucksack at his side. Rather small for a bomb, perhaps, but not for a machete…. Mindful of the stabbings on the Doncaster-London train only three weeks before, I felt a bit uneasy – until a muscular man, very big – but in a good way – sat down on the seat next to mine and smiled. An Idris Elba look-alike. No one would mess with him!

Giovanni, Leonardo’s mate, worked more wonders in the garden, trimming the bushes back and clearing the debris, then digging a neat edge to a messy border, transforming it. A single blackbird later appeared on the newly tidy grass and pecked a bit feebly at the bits of apple I’d put out. A species under attack at the moment from a virus kind to other species – but fatal to blackbirds.

The mild weather in London gave way to sleet and a cold snap, softened now. But when the front door was briefly left open, a sudden breath of bitter wind blew some very dead leaves into the porch.

October 28th – November 10th, 2025

A community clinic, where a man in an off-white coat in a very messy room studied and handled my bare feet with great, faintly creepy interest – bending them forwards and backwards, then manipulating my each of my ‘elegant’ toes in turn – the ‘this little piggy’ nursery rhyme coming to mind…. One of my big toes, the chiropodist announced eventually, was much wobblier than the other, but ‘still functional’ and my bunion was unlikely to get any worse, unless I wore very high heels. Then he handed me my socks and I made a grab for my shoes and a very swift exit….

Spent an age on the phone, trying to sort out my ‘specialist’ home insurance and negotiate a lower premium, with limited success. The single exit/entrance, alarms and locks were plus factors, but the building’s timber frame would always keep the cost very high.

Much easier to tackle was the toaster. Not just a matter – it must be understood – of emptying the crumb trays, but actually turning the appliance upside down and shaking it to loosen all the other little brown, beige or black lumps and scraps hiding in the interior, some stuck to the sides – assisted by an old single-tuft toothbrush, which dislodged what in another life had been a small tomato… Then I vacuumed up the litter left on the work top. Was never a domestic goddess – and really need a new kitchen – but wore my best apron, to elevate the exercise.

And still on the home front, another man I’d never met before, from a damp and timber company. ‘I’m Andrew, I’m afraid.’ Not the most fashionable name at the moment. ‘Never mind,’ I said. He’d come to advise about a stained wall under the stairs identified by my domestic bible- the pre-purchase survey. A humidifier was recommended, but yes, my convector heater would work as well…

After all this, a reward was required. My hair had grown a bit Mary Beard again, so went off to the Aveda salon up the hill, where the stylist said that ‘shaping hair’ was her ‘passion’ – so after surviving a complimentary herbal brew of liquorice and sweet fennel – I emerged much tidier, with a bespoke kind of bob.

An unappointed visit. My son, the AI expert, turned up and installed himself at my desk for the day with his state-of-the art lap-top; he’d fancied working from my home, for a change of scene. And The Cottage was a ‘very good cafe’…

The convent school grapevine told me on Friday that a friend’s husband was terminally ill, so posted a card to them both right away – but learnt later that he died on the following Monday morning, when my card may well have arrived…probably adding to her distress. I barely knew the man, but the timing of the message strangely tied me to the event of his death.

A first-time trip yesterday on the Elizabeth Line, to the Docklands Museum based in a huge warehouse which once stored imports from the West Indies, like sugar, rum and coffee – often products of the slave trade. For the Secrets of the Thames exhibition of objects found by mudlarks over the centuries on the foreshore of the river – hidden and preserved in the mud, then revealed when the tides fell. A glass eye, ivory dentures, an Iron Age helmet with horns, still a gleaming bronze, a single Victorian baby’s shoe….and a lot of rings lost or thrown into the grey-green water.

October 14th – October 27th, 2025

It was a final farewell to her ‘poor children!’. A short note only hours before her execution in another October, 1793. The signature- in sepia ink – was as clear as if she’d written it yesterday: Marie Antoinette. And nearby, the simple white linen shift, slightly crumpled, that she wore in prison. Very rare and personal items, an intimate glimpse of an ill-fated human life… in poignant contrast to the other objects and portraits on display at a V&A exhibition about the style of the last Queen of France – the extravagant jewellery, exquisite furniture and fabrics, panniered rose and silver gowns and towering coiffures….

Left the U3a Book Club, attended only twice. A very welcoming group – but the ‘choice of reading material’ (very light fiction) just ‘didn’t work for me….’ Nothing really to talk about!

Twice punctured: the flu and Covid jabs. The lovely consultant at the TB Clinic was very pleased with me – the last samples were ‘clear’ – no sign of abnormal lung bugs – but the treatment would continue till next September…. Lady Windermere might be in retreat, but she wasn’t that easy to kill off for good…

An early Post appeared in a literary magazine – the second to be so published, which was encouraging. The one about the nuns’ idea of sex education in the 1950s….* more about rabbits and frog spawn than about human Bits and Bobs and what went where and how… It took years to make sense of it all and not sure it ever did….

The heating failed again – so the plumber came back and replaced what he called the ‘spark plugs’ (electrodes) in the boiler – the old ones ‘falling apart’ apparently – which should give the system a ‘new lease of life’….. He later sent me an eye-watering estimate of the cost of updating it all – which involved digging out the concrete under the carpet to lay new pipes and removing the tanks, cylinder and shower pump – the whole thing.

But with a happier bunny boiler, The Cottage grew warm again, so maybe the upheaval could wait, at least for a while..

*The Biology Lesson, 2022 (Will be updating access to earlier posts in the coming weeks – need assistance! T.X)

October 1st – October 13th, 2025

Rubbish on the grass in the garden – strewn with unsightly items like tins and tea bags, dirty wipes, potato peelings and egg shells…. and more mess spilling out of a plastic sack I’d forgotten to put in the general waste bin. A large hole torn in the side overnight by scavengers in search of food, the local squirrels, foxes and rats.

Prettier pictures in an exhibition called Radical Harmony: the post-impressionists in the National Gallery, who used dots of colour to flat but sometimes ethereal effect. With a friend and a friend of hers, who had a particular restaurant in mind for lunch, though she’d never actually eaten there… my choice, nearer and cheaper, won out – which made for an absurdly inharmonious atmosphere. Elderly people who aspire to elegance really shouldn’t sulk…

Another art show at the Royal Academy, on my own this time. Landscapes by the German artist Anselm Kiefer, layered with not only paint but metal, straw and shellac – inspired by Vincent’s visions of skies, fields and crows….

Back in Enfield, a trip to Palmer’s Green and a community centre with a promising list of classes, including Tai Chi – but hard to find, because Green Lanes is one of the longest roads in London – nearly 7 miles, across three boroughs. An ancient route once used to drive cattle from the country to Smithfield…

In the park, approaching my picket fence, the trees thinner now and a lovely litter of leaves on the ground in shades of brown, plum and gold.

And in The Cottage, another test for my poor Nerves. Came down the stairs in the morning and turned the room thermostat till I heard the little click, as usual – but the heating didn’t come on, which meant cold radiators and no hot water either. The local ‘loveyourdoorstep’ site a hit and miss affair, but it produced a ‘gas and heating specialist’ who looked like a Darren but was actually called Christian. His family was ‘very religious’, apparently. Oh dear, the last thing I needed was a born-again plumber – but no, he was normal enough, soon got things up and running again and initiated me into some of the inner mysteries of the antiquated system, like the right pressure to put on a re-set button and which of many switches operated the back-up immersion heater….

Never thought I’d miss the combination boiler in my house in Lichfield, now under new ownership – the dear old Baxi, with its warranty and familiar timer and funny little ways, but I do.

September 16th -30th, 2025

Unconnected. The circle of blue light on the router went out. No internet, no signal, no TV… and no Notes… (can’t do them on the mobile, need the wider, larger screen). BT said it was an exterior ‘network issue’; Open Reach said it was BT’s fault, probably ‘upgrading the system, putting the connection out of sync…’ That was Monday. Leonardo turned up today to finish a job but also managed to re-set the router, which lit up – first red, then green then back to blue.

In the park beyond the picket fence, a woman in a woolly hat paused, stared at The Cottage, then took out a sketchpad and pencil. The third or fourth passerby to do so….. ‘Such a picturesque place’ she said, ‘love the line of the roof!’ She meant the steeply pitched, slightly uneven one, with handmade tiles – not the flat one at the back with a leaky disposition….

Leonardo – the Renaissance handyman – was back in action, his first task to deal with the problems identified by the Leak Detective. Then he replaced the tumbledown fencing in the garden with new but less romantic panels of bright wood…

The Odeon Luxe, Islington. To join two friends and see – and say goodbye to – Downton Abbey, the Grand Finale. Loved everything about it: the music, the clothes, the grand settings, the happy endings and the sheer Englishness of it all…. Then afterwards a nearby pub, but it was a Saturday evening and we had to shout at each other over the table, competing with the roaring racket from 5 TV screens covering a football match….

When I mentioned the movie to someone of Muslim heritage, she frowned and said it wasn’t ‘her thing’ and that it sounded like a ‘nostalgia fest’. It took a moment to realise her meaning – that the England of the last century, now lost but forever cherished, was for others another country, forever foreign. Fortunately, her manners are timelessly refined, sparing me any possible spiel about a colonial, imperial past…

One afternoon, a quiet compartment on the tube, only three other travellers. A girl glued to her phone a couple of seats away and opposite us a well-heeled older woman and a very large, ugly man, neither old nor young, with a paunch his shirt didn’t quite close over… After a while, he began to fiddle with the front of his trousers, fondling the zip. The girl happened to look up and caught a smirk in her direction; could almost feel her freeze. The other woman and I exchanged glances: if he exposed himself or urinated, we’d definitely Do Something….

Then at the next station, he got up and lurched out on to the platform – a pitiful sight – and the train moved on. The girl relaxed, loosening her grip on the phone. A faint smile, acknowledged by two nods. Nothing was said; it didn’t need to be. There are some signals between women never lost in translation.

September 1st –September 15th, 2025

Old rules, re-visited. A key one – to do something new, or at least slightly different, every day. Maybe just a simple tweak of an existing pattern… So one day, delayed my chemical breakfast – the cocktail of 3 drugs – till lunchtime. Rule 2: a walk every day, however short, however tired….

The man from Octopus arrived first thing, to install new smart meters. ‘Won’t be here long!’ he said. My ‘that’s what they all say! seemed to alarm him a bit – but sure enough, he was still in the boiler cupboard at lunchtime. Some problem with the gas connection, then one of the new meters had a fault….

A bus to an address in a different part of town, only the second private home I’ve entered since the move. A U3a book club, a small but friendly group, who usually read ‘light fiction’, so not sure if it will work out. The house had a ‘Sold’ sign outside; the host was leaving London to live in the Midlands – my journey in reverse.

Two alerts. A modest bleep on my phone then an exclamation mark flashing in a red triangle, the Government testing out a system that would warn me of ‘any life-threatening emergency’…. The next day, the Residents Association, which covers three streets, informed me of a burglary ‘in the early hours’ only a few houses away. One of the poshest establishments in the area, probably full of antiques, but the ‘message was clear: Be Vigilant!’

A dry season so far. A rule broken only once, when I shared a toast with my son over the phone. He was celebrating his birthday in Venice, a city I last saw in the early ’70s, the smell of decay long remembered. It was apparently less smelly these days, but still sinking….

My new passport arrived, with the mugshot of a murderess – but my only trip was to South Kensington and the Victoria & Albert museum, to meet a friend and see the Cartier exhibition of jewellery and craftsmanship. Room after room of ice-cold, sparkling brilliance – a slightly repellent display of diamonds and riches beyond belief. Give me the quiet glow of pearl or amethyst or the mystery of opal any day. Have only one ring set with diamonds, from an romance that didn’t last forever; a burglar would be welcome to it.

August 19th -August 31st, 2025

Made an effort, volumising the hair, dotting on the primer and a bit of bronzer – sheer vanity, really – then padded into the Post Office to apply for a new passport. The girl stood me in front of a white screen and took 3 photographs more like mugshots, each more hideous than the last….

Waited in all one morning for a visit from Enfield Guttering – to inspect the chimney stack and moss on the pitched roof tiles, but no-one turned up… No explanatory or apologetic call. What is it with roofers? Took revenge with a review on Trustpilot.

My son, who’s deep into family history, asked me a lot of questions not entirely comfortable to answer; a few I wouldn’t answer at all, because some true stories are best left buried in the past. Did dredge up one or two juicy details, like the peerage based in Baltimore, now extinct.. And about Angelica, one of his great-great aunts, who had a baby out of wedlock and ended up in a workhouse, then a ‘lunatic’ asylum….

A group trip by tube into central -to an area all things legal, the 4 ancient Inns of Court and to the Temple Garden by the Embankment that borders the Thames. The fallen leaves so dry and brown, so early. Then wandered off into the Temple Church, a Royal Peculiar, founded by the Knights Templar in the 12th century. Badly gutted in the Blitz, the church was repaired, inch by inch….

Chatting with a friend about the end of summer and the recent heat, we agreed we didn’t sweat much these days – more of a glow, even on the hottest days – but when I told her I didn’t always wash every day, especially if staying in and I’d showered and deodorised the day before, she was actually shocked… ‘Well’, she said – after an interesting pause -‘ you’ve always had rather French tendencies!’

Bought some more exercise toys, to keep the squeezy balls company. A pair of hand-weights, worn strapped to the wrists…. plus a new personal weighing machine… Because it’s time for a re-set, on more fronts than one – to welcome in my forever favourite month of the year. September.

August 5th – August 18th, 2025

Got my left arm back. Or rather a stiff and wasted form of it. A rotary blade cut the plaster cast away, though I’d still have to wear a splint for a while… The doctor said ‘squeezy balls’ would help restore strength to my wrist, but that I wasn’t to ‘get into any more fights!’ So I bought a set of three, in different degrees of resistance: soft, medium and firm.

Another mean machine – more of a glorified bucket, really – was trundled into The Cottage by a Basil from Bulgaria – I kid you not – their mission a matter of steam extraction and anti-stain protection. Another long hose – nearly as long as the Leak Detective’s – snaked its way up to the main bedroom and with a deafening roar, the machine began its mysterious work of deep-cleaning the mattress inherited from the vendors of the house in Lichfield, in 2011….

Another highlight, when a new handyman – from Chingford – attached antique-look castor wheels to the heavy sideboard inherited from the vendors here, which meant even the fragile of bone could move it… Then he severed and removed an ugly feature left behind in the garden, a dead green snake of a thing that stretched the whole length of the border – the old Virgin cable.

Into Central, to the National Gallery (so many things to feed the spirit!) To visit one of my favourite paintings, by Jean-Francois Millet: The Angelus – a timeless pause of prayer in French field. And to visit the Supporters’ House, a lounge bar and restaurant, with a calm, traditional atmosphere, but nothing over-upholstered or fusty about it. A very high-ceilinged sanctuary in the city, table-service only – with a view of the (lower half) of Nelson’s column through the windows….

A group lunch at The Cricketers, less than 5 minutes’ walk away. A few faces more familiar now – and still early days – but the new local friend or two I know must be out there, still elusive…

And continued to cough in the morning… Lady Windermere and her friend Fatigue still with a hold on me – and watched more television than usual, including the first and ever-great Gladiator, a useful soundtrack to my hand exercises with the squeezy balls, the bloodiest bits of the film inspiring greater effort (grip, hold, release, repeat). The kind of thing unlikely to ‘echo in eternity’ – but began to get my wrist action back…

July 22nd – August 4th, 2025

East London. To Hoxton, in Shoreditch, not far from Whitechapel and Spitalfields… trying out a few more transport links… and to the only Museum of the Home in the world, in a row of old almshouses. With rooms recreated to show domestic life over the centuries and – no escape! – ‘to celebrate the diversity of lived experiences’….. Outside, however, an oasis undisturbed even by the overground trains rumbling through the station only yards away. Gardens through Time, a series of styles from the Tudor knot to ‘green roof’, with beds of ancient herbs like woad, soapwort and meadowsweet….

Underground to Archway, for an afternoon appointment at the Whittington Hospital, in the TB clinic – which was a bit unsettling – the ‘wasting disease’ also known as ‘the white death’ – but the other people in the waiting area looked solid enough and reception said that the TB patients were seen in the morning… It was time to start attacking Lady Windermere – the Syndrome discovered last year, a lung bug hard to kill off, requiring ‘multi-drug therapy’: a course of 3 anti-biotics with some dodgy side-effects, to last at least a year – but worth it, I hope, to get my breath back – as free from a cough as it was before she came on the scene.

The flat roof, ever popular, had its eleventh visitor, another pair of legs out of the bedroom window and back again… A Leak Detective this time, who arrived with a lot of equipment, including a thermal imaging camera and a very long hose attached to a glorifed bucket of a machine – which, 2 hours later, produced a diagnosis: there was a small tear in the membrane laid on the roof and a gap in the overlapping planks of the weatherboarding in need of ‘re-mastication’. Which sounded a bit inappropriate, until Google explained he probably meant mastic, a pliable sealant related to plant resin…

A visit to a dear friend went badly wrong, to our mutual dismay. Our lifelong faults twice collided: my tendency to over-react, her lack of tact. The large plant l’d left on her patio had been left to die in the heat, when only the occasional watering would have saved it…..Very upsetting. Then over lunch, she brought up a seriously sensitive subject -forget how we got there – our very different experience of Great Ormond Street, over 40 years ago, where her baby was successfully treated and where my first son died not long before – she’d surely not forgotten…. Tried to divert the conversation, which didn’t work – so I ended it and left the restaurant, meal unfinished, then got the bus and train back.

The bond between us is too strong to break, but it bent that day – because some wounds never heal.

July 8th – July 21st, 2025

The ants in retreat, but with the torrential rain came an ominous sound from the kitchen – a pitter-patter, but not of tiny feet, the kind I yearn for. The ceiling was in tears again. A new leak, or the return of the old one…

Amazon told me that my next delivery of ‘high-energy wild bird food’ would arrive the next day. Which I hadn’t re-ordered. It turned out that it was on ‘auto-repeat’, part of a ‘subscribe and save scheme’ I’d apparently signed up for but certainly didn’t intend to….. An endless supply of – suet balls! The what can we help you with? section on the site was irrelevant, so endured the usual trial of trying to reach customer services (but nowhere near the torture of Virgin) and when I finally got through, past a robot to a person, he sorted it out.

Something I did want arrived by post, a package containing an item I thought lost forever in the vast grounds of Stourhead – or less impressively, in the Ladies or the restaurant or the shop – which someone found and handed in. The unique, slightly crooked silver cross on a string, a souvenir from Salamanca cathedral. One of those mini-minor miracles that visit us from time to time.

The second gardener, Alfredo, a mate of my renaissance handyman, was the real thing and tidied the garden a treat – thinning out two bushes entangled together, loosening their embrace and revealing their structure. Two different varieties of rose.

Made myself a more stylish sling from an ‘infinity’ (loop-like) scarf with a giraffe pattern. A bus ride took me straight to Barnet Hospital and the Orthopaedic Department, where the doctor said it was a ‘fragility fracture’. I didn’t look my age, he said kindly, but – I finished it for him – ‘it isn’t just a number’…. the bones get brittle… The cast needed to be be tightened with a special bandage and I was offered a choice of colours – so, imagining a pretty pastel, chose pink – which was a mistake, because it turned out to be a hi-viz, hideous shade of fuchsia. I’d be visible for miles, but at least no one would run me over… and the nurse said I didn’t have to wear a sling at all. ‘Free movement’, it seemed,was the fashion in fractures.

A garden party in the grounds of a Georgian house nearby. The residents’ association’s annual event. A very English affair: marquees in the case of rain and a raffle and a display of Morris dancing. This involved a troupe of sprightly gentlemen in breeches and braces, festoons of flowers around their heads, hopping about on the lawn, waving ribbon-like handkerchiefs around and slapping each other’s sticks – a gloriously nonsensical folk dance deeply rooted in tradition. Met a few more of my neighbours, all friendly. The grown-ups sipped something fizzy; the younger residents played with hoops and balls, as children have always done. A baffled-looking baby sat in a little paddling pool surrounded by a fleet of plastic ducks, while a machine in the shape of a frog sat on a table and blew iridescent bubbles into the air.

June 24th – July 7th, 2025

‘Be loud and proud to be whoever you want to be!’ The voice speaking over my head was not an announcement at a some political rally or other, but in a shop – dear old Boots the chemist’s! Champions, apparently, of the LBTQI+ community and ‘gender-neutral shopping’… but I wasn’t especially interested in ‘celebrating Global Diversity’; I’d only gone in for some shampoo and a tube of toothpaste…

A day way out of town – a three-hour coach trip south-west, through several shires and past Stonehenge to Stourhead, a Palladian house set apart from a landscape garden laid out in the 18th century. A National Trust property. It was damp and chilly, so I took the shuttle bus around the great man-made lake, past magnificent redwood trees and Temples of Apollo and Flora, then got off to descend into The Grotto – cave-like chambers with arches of ancient rocks and slippery stone floors, with reclining statues of a river god and a sleeping nymph… And somewhere on the estate, I lost a pendant. The silver cross on a string of rope, bought in Spain.

Back in my own more modest abode, a few steps forward and several back. There are no back windows downstairs in The Cottage, so the Velux skylights matter, but the remote controls didn’t work, so a Clive and an Aaron came to check them out, which involved climbing on a ladder to reset buttons below the roof only they could find. Before they left, the elder of the two asked me if I was ‘a happy bunny’, but had to be satisfied with an ambiguous nod.

The next visitors were very small, black and unwelcome. They made their way in from the garden and across the carpet – an ocean to an ant – and into the kitchen, where they seemed to multiply overnight. So I created a barrier of scented talc on either side of the front door, which worked in Lichfield, but not here. The now fragrant invaders took no notice, so I squashed a few, then scrubbed all the surfaces they seemed to favour, then sprinkled some blue granules all over the place – insecticide from Amazon – then hoovered up the ex-ants from the carpet. Which was just as well, all this activity – because come the weekend my left arm was in a sling…

A week before, I’d had a very minor fall, or so I thought, and sprained my left hand. Nothing seemed broken – no pain and a full range of movement – but it was swollen and bruised so I treated the poor thing with an ice-pack and arnica cream – till a sudden impulse to have it checked out, just in case. So I took an Uber to the nearest ‘minor injuries’ centre, not far away, where a three-hour wait ended with a shock. The X-ray showed a slight fracture of the wrist, so they put on a plaster cast to ‘stabilise it’.

Awoke with the memory of another summer’s morning in London, twenty years ago – when I was late for work and rushed to Holborn tube station, to find it closed, a wide iron gate drawn across the entrance, a bemused crowd standing around in the street. Went back to the flat, where my elder son was playing on the new computer. The radio had news of power surges across the capital, then sometime later came something about ‘terror attacks’. My younger son should have been safe at school, but when I rang them, they said he hadn’t arrived – adding, rather sharply – that he was often absent or late….

When he finally came back home, he said he’d been sitting in Russell Square – reading a book, playing truant – when he heard a great booming sound from not far down the road that led to Euston. Which was actually a deadly explosion on the top deck of a no. 30 bus. One of a series of suicide bombings on the transport network that morning. July 7th, 2005.

June 10th – June 23rd, 2025

A day trip to the dental clinic near Stafford, to have a troublesome tooth removed, which was then put into a clear little plastic bag and presented as ‘a souvenir!’ The dentist’s the best, but as dotty as I am. And as once before, the anaesthetic had a rather hippy effect, making me a bit high and giggly on the trains back….

Someone came to give some advice about ‘hedge and shrub maintenance’ and the branches overhanging from next door’s garden – a nice lad who looked about 13, far too young to be a tree surgeon doing dangerous things on a ladder…

Into central several times, once for a second CT scan and a day or so later, for a group visit to the British Library, to see Unearthed, a slightly woke exhibition about ‘the power of gardening’ – ‘the cross-cultural garden’ and ‘plants from our imperial past’ – but I hadn’t known about the transportation of botanical species across the Atlantic in the slave ships….. or that carrots, once only yellow and purple, were bred to be orange in honour of William of Orange.

And a few meals out, one with in-laws, another with ex-colleagues and one – on the longest, hottest day of the year – with my ex-landlady friend Rachel, sitting outside under an awning, sipping a madly expensive Vermentino from Sardinia, while she confessed to a crime…. Caught speeding, not for the first time (24 mph in a zone restricted to 20) she’d now lost her licence to drive till December.

A For Sale sign on a cottage very close to mine, so went on to Rightmove – a voyeuristic tendency, it’s true – to check out the pictures and the price. A very modest building, with no garden to speak of – but still on the market for a crazy half a million….

‘Rotated’ the cushions, the furry ones put away till the winter, and re-shuffled the shoes – a ritual of the summer – the sandals now in the basket by the front door. Up early most days, to do the heavier chores and to beat the heat – and also to do a bit of weeding, no people yet in the park beyond the picket fence – the Green now turning brown, my grass less lawn than scrubland – but, as if with its own eco-system, The Cottage was cool.

May 27th -June 9th, 2025

In the Bloomsbury flat, there was an Algernon, in Lichfield an Arnold. And now a new presence in The Cottage, an air-purifying aspidistra, a plant also adored by the Victorians. This one christened – Albert.

Stayed in most of the time – the energy deficient thing – but did visit 3 local establishments. Specsavers, where the eye tests went well, my sight once again pronounced ‘stable’. Then the Solicitor’s, to pick up the last piece of documentation to complete the purchase: a hard copy of the Title Absolute to my freehold property. And another hairdresser, who could be The One – where the stylist took over 2 hours to put only a scattering of blonde and copper highlights into my hair, but worth it, a real confidence boost, ready for a small adventure….

Which was a brief change of scene last weekend, when I joined my son on a trip to the birthplace of radio: Chelmsford, in Essex, less than an hour’s drive away. Overnight at a rather unwelcoming Premier Inn, with no proper reception area, just digital check-in screens, one of which wasn’t working…. Heavy rain, so we splashed through the town centre, struck by the marked architectural incoherence – graceful older buildings adjacent to others with really garish facades or of the ugliest concrete construction – but on the Sunday, one of the loveliest sounds still to be heard in this world. From the lantern tower of the cathedral, peal after peal of bells, ringing far and wide….

Then a visit to the local museum, which had a section devoted to the Essex Regiment, which my father fought for. His grandson pressed a few buttons on a database screen – and there it was, his precious name, a loss forever felt. KIA, 1944.

There was also an accurate reproduction of the radio room on the Titanic, the equipment made in the Marconi factory, which opened in Chelmsford in 1898. Transmitters that in April 1912 sent out a stream of distress signals… Without this communication by wireless telegraph, there may well have been no survivors at all.

Back in Enfield, the wrong address, twice. One day, a trolley with 3 boxes on top, was wheeled up to the porch – a Waitrose delivery I hadn’t ordered – but the array of goodies looked rather tempting, so a moment’s hesitation, before doing the Right Thing and re-directing the driver to the correct cottage…

Then one evening, a young woman wearing heavy make-up, a mini skirt and stilettos came to the front door. “I’m Cathy!” When I looked a bit blank, she said, very slowly – “I am -your- new-carer.” ‘That’s very kind’, I said. ‘I don’t need a carer at the moment, but thank you for caring!’ So she teetered back down the garden path, squealing into her phone – and left the gate wide open.

May 13th – May 26th, 2025

So, in the end, Leonardo – my renaissance handyman – was entrusted with the task of fixing the roof while the sun was still shining. Then the patio and path had their own Make-Over – decades of dirt engrained in the stones washed clean away – from dark grey to pale biscuit – and the cracks between them re-pointed, which upset the ants, some no doubt buried beneath the mortar, the survivors made homeless, scuttling around and around for days afterwards.

A frightening moment – when a sudden involuntary cough made me half-swallow and near-choke on a boiled throat sweet…and it took two or three deliberate coughs to fully eject it. Such an undignified death… The rest of the sweets went straight into the bin.

Into Central, to meet a friend at the British Museum, my favourite membership and the best. To visit the Hiroshige exhibition of landscapes to fall in love with. Serene scenes in 19th century Japan: birds flying across the face of the sun or the moon, over delicate mountains or fields of rice or snow. Then lunch at the Great Court restaurant under the tesselated atrium roof.

And locally, a Heritage Walk. Many of the landmarks familiar now, like the Barclays Bank where in 1967, the world’s first cash machine was opened. The maximum withdrawal permitted – £10! Also knew that near every old church is always an equally old pub, but not that the Green so near to The Cottage still counted as common land, the mediaeval grazing rights still in effect. So in theory, I could raise the odd cow or pig upon it….

Bright see-through dots on the window that joined to form wavy patterns on the glass. Rain! More steady drizzle than downpour – the new anti-leak sealant yet to be truly tested – but even so, the here and now relief of a dry ceiling and no puddles on the kitchen floor…

April 29th – May 12th, 2025

The seventh – and last – roofer, from a Which Trusted Trader, was an elderly, sour-faced individual who was reluctant to climb out of the window to the flat roof on account of his ‘arthritic knees!’ You couldn’t make it up. He took only a very quick look, so the loose pipe went unnoticed and the outlet unexamined. None of the ‘surveyors’ inspired anything like confidence…

A gardener – with glowing reviews on the ‘doorstep’ site – didn’t work out either. A young man in a hurry, his idea of a Tidy was to slash away at the hedges and shrubs, miss most of the weeds and, unforgivably, pull up a couple of daffodils left to die back naturally…

In slow motion most of the time; couldn’t complete a course of antibiotics prescribed for an identified infection because the side-effect – nausea – killed my appetite and seemed to make my cough worse. Found it hard to write anything, but got the essentials done and went out a few times.

No shelves yet for the books – priority no. 8 – but easier here for some reason to streamline the collection and to let a lot go. Took most of them to the free ‘book-swap’ at Enfield Chase station and when I returned after a short local trip, less than an hour or so later, Voices of the Titanic and Peyton Place and a Collins Gem about trees had already vanished…

An AGM meeting of the Residents’ Association, where I met a few more of my civilised neighbours and learnt about the ‘largest landscape restoration project in London’ – to expand the green spaces in an Enfield once covered – centuries ago – by a royal hunting forest.

And a V.E. Day service at the War Memorial not far from The Cottage, the Mayor in his finery and a priest with a ponytail, but poorly attended. Flags raised then lowered to the ground, wreaths of plastic poppies laid on the stone steps, the drone of traffic on the main road behind us… A Day marked by my mother’s annual anguish, because my father never came back.

But later, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, I put on my best cropped jeans, a lacy top and violet mascara and went to a garden party in Camden, another borough in North London. Champagne and nibbles and small talk. The birthday girl, still strikingly statuesque, squealed when she saw me – You’ve moved! Welcome back!’ then enveloped me in a brief but slightly crushing embrace. She was born on May 8th, 1945 – and my dentist for over 30 years. Another precious link with the past not yet broken.

April 15th -April 28th, 2025

After 15 minutes, only a little red line in the results window. I’d heard that Covid could be the cause of crazy dreams and disrupted sleep – but the kit from Boots tested negative.

A day or so later though, I dug out a face mask, one of a few kept from the lockdown days. Because a Darren had come that morning and removed the old gas boiler and redundant pipework and sealed up the chimney flue… but failed to find any trace of treasure or bone, no coins in a crevice or mysterious note in the brickwork. He did tidy up a bit, but there was still a lot of dust and soot left in what was once a fireplace, long ago. So I put on the mask and swept it all up. So now there’s a new hole in the sitting room wall, ready to be reborn as an Attractive Alcove….

And still on the home front, the people booked to do a ‘rapidroof’ treatment to seal up the cracks in the kitchen roof, didn’t turn up. No call or text – or reply to mine – only the claim of an email sent on the Thursday – which never arrived either – saying they’d forgotten it was Good Friday, but could fit me in the following week….

A trip to Ewell, south of London, in Surrey – with Rachel, who’d long wanted to meet my widower friend, 92, and see his apartment in a luxury complex. We sat outside on the balcony, with a view of woodland and water. A flash of white over the stream was a young egret. Then he treated us to lunch – with Sancerre – in the on-site restaurant and told us that one of his ‘projects’ was to ‘outlive the King!’

An Easter Sunday service at the church nearest The Cottage – which is also a hub for Ukrainian refugees. The welcome was friendly, but the preaching interminable. Summary: with God all things are possible. Too much repetition does my head in, so when the congregation began to mill about, sharing the sign of peace, I slipped away and into the street. The railings outside the building were festooned with brave blue and yellow ribbons.

Another roofer came and went. A smiley but scary chap from a reputable company – 20 years’ experience. This one said the only solution to the leak problem was not the sealant process recommended by all the others who’d climbed out of the back bedroom window, but one that would cost three or four times as much – a brand new roof!

A local story, which reached the national news, was also depressing, though sharing the general outrage connected me more closely to the neighbourhood. In a park less than 2 miles away, an ancient, irreplaceable tree was cut down. One with a girth of 20 ft and years yet to live. The Enfield Oak. Which I never saw and now never will.

April 1st – April 14th, 2025

I’d thought that the slight tilt of the old brick chimney on the pitched roof was part of The Cottage’s picturesque charm – but while the handyman was cutting back the vegetation encroaching on the flat roof, he looked up and noticed multiple gaps in the chimney mortar and sent me a photo – repointing seriously required… Which meant, it could fall off!

The surreally interrupted sleep persisted and began to drain most of my energy in the day, so I tried to make a GP appointment, but failed. The surgery near Euston had changed its booking system again, making it ever more inaccessible. In one dream, I’d given birth – the oldest mother in the universe – to a monstrous, bouncer-sized baby with piggy, Henry VIII’th eyes – too big to dress or feed properly. And more alarming still, my first visitor was President Trump, his hair in rollers under a hairnet….

Mentioned this to my landlady friend, who told me a troubling true-life story I found hard to believe – which began with someone ringing her up and saying he was a policeman and could she help with a big fraud investigation? And ended with a young man on a motor bike roaring up to the house in Tufnell Park – my base for over a year – and collecting over £2,000 in cash. Where were the red flags or at least an intervention by Barclays?

Back to homely basics: a seasonal ‘shoe shuffle’, one of my quarterly routines, now resumed. The boots banished to the back of the wardrobe, the lighter pairs put in a basket by the front door, ready to wear. The sandals – my favourite footwear – awaiting their turn in the sun.

Two trips out of town. A day-trip into Suffolk by coach, to ‘collect’ another cathedral, St Edmundsbury, the original abbey long lost in the Dissolution. In the Ladies there, a notice told me that the toilet was ‘twinned’ with a latrine no. 30829 in Uganda! A photo of the said shack outside a village. I’d never heard of toilet twinning before, but the notice said it was a ‘world-wide movement’, apparently….

St Mary’s church nearby was older and more atmospheric, with a plain stone monument at the back – the tomb of Henry’s sister, Mary Tudor, Queen of France, who died at only 37 – his ship, the tragic Mary Rose, named after her. Bury St. Edmunds – with its bustling market and very clean streets. On the same day, a text from a friend at a work event in Birmingham, ‘Rat City’, the bins unemptied for weeks…

And a weekend with the Portsmouth 3, with the usual long walk along the Southsea shore, the sea defences still under construction, the WightLink ferries to and from the island on bright water, the Royal Navy’s largest ship, a huge aircraft carrier, in the harbour – which seemed to have an air of readiness about it…

Sorry to leave their caring company, but an easy route back to the capital. Then the Northern Line from Waterloo to Warren Street, then the Victoria Line to Finsbury Park – then the overground train to Enfield Chase. And a joy to return to The Cottage, the chimney still on the roof.

March 18th – March 31st, 2025

A message: I have now changed the get-in-touch section of the site, to include my main email address, at least for the time being…

***

It’s not every day that you wash three chandeliers, albeit small ones – left behind by the vendors, like the fridge and the wardrobes. The Italian handyman took them down and I dunked them in warm soapy water in the sink – hundreds of glass drops, a few missing – which made them sparkle a treat and create new patterns of light on the ceilings. He adjusted doors, repaired curtain rails and put up some more Really Useful hooks – one in the form of a giraffe – then constructed a new much-needed storage space once occupied by the dishwasher, an unwanted legacy. The finale: a tightening of the toilet seat. So I left Leonardo an excellent review on the ‘doorstep’ check-a-trader type site, where he was found.

A rare, beautiful, intangible thing: a truly happy birthday, based at home with my family, including the local daughter-in-law, who saw The Cottage for the first time, complimentary in her own cool way. Then dinner out in The Town (the oldest area of Enfield) – timed for after sunset, for Ramadan reasons, which suited everyone.

An appointment at the Neurology hospital in Queen Square, where the layout of the stairs was confusing, like an Escher picture, though the Outpatients department was typical enough. Once again, my hands, legs and feet were pricked by a pin, but the numbness and burning sensations had now receded and was told that an earlier compression of a nerve seemed to be righting itself… The dodgy knee might or might not be connected…. but didn’t mention the recent series of disturbing, surreal dreams with a huge cast of characters, including the King and soap or movie stars long gone. As if demented in the night, normal in the morning.

An expeditionary trip – three buses, one tube – to an Open Garden, a group visit. It was too early in the season, most of the flowers not yet in bloom, but made a few notes about possible plants for my own piece of earth – like London Pride and the sweet-scented Daphne….. Oddly enough, went to a Greek restaurant in Camden Town that evening, there for years, by the name of – Daphne. To celebrate another March birthday. No cake, but a wonderful confection of fresh fruit, stuck with candles.

5 years now since Boris told us all to ‘stay at home’, which would for me today sound so different. Realised that this year’s birthday felt a little younger and a lot lighter than last year’s milestone. When I heard myself say to a friend, chatting about the recent Move, ‘It’s three months since I’ve been re-potted…’ a faint look of anxiety crossed his face. ‘Well, I hope you’ve not been too pruned!’

March 4th – March 17th, 2025

The prized possession wasn’t in the handbag where it should have been – hardly end of world – but when it turned up in a pocket I’d forgotten I’d put it, the finding transformed the morning. My Freedom Pass, the urban accessory for the older Londoner…

So I was soon on an overground train into central, to meet a dear school friend, also a writer, for lunch in St Martin’s Lane – putting the world to rights – and in Enfield on buses to try out routes never taken before, sitting on the top deck for a better, if unscenic, view of the places passed through. One destination was more building site than town centre – pavements up, barriers everywhere – Waltham Cross, which was -the signs said – undergoing regeneration works, a ‘renaissance’ even – which seemed a bit unlikely in the absence of big retail names – every other shop the charity type, sadly reminiscent of the decline of Northern and Midland towns of past acquaintance, like Leigh and Sutton Coldfield and Tamworth, full of fat people… The lovely mediaeval Eleanor Cross itself looked lost in such surroundings.

Made up, dressed up and scented self – a recommended confidence ritual for women and maybe some men – preparing for battle/a long wait, then dialled the number for HMRC, the income tax number….. but the call was answered in minutes by a charming Andy working from home in Manchester and rather fond of proverbs ,who explained why my pension was reduced – interest on savings, an increase in the pension but not in the personal allowance…’robbing Peter to pay Paul’… then his computer crashed and that was the end of Andy.

One evening it was warm enough to sit in the front garden and watch the people in the park opposite The Cottage and the birds crossing the sky and the occasional plane and the traffic in the distance – reminding me of how far I had really come…

A carnivorous confession. In the middle of Waitrose last week, I realised how bored I’d become with the boundaries I’d set myself, food-wise, for several years – and bought a tub of coronation chicken and a ready meal containing ham hock – textures that tasted strange after so long, chewy in a way I suppose dead flesh is bound to be…. It felt very important, exercising that freedom of choice, but the eating of meat will always be resistible – and rare.

February 18th – March 3rd, 2025

So a locksmith came and took off the front door, to make it a better fit, then put in a new bolt and locks, adding more keys to my collection… and I would later have fun with something else – washing my only (slimline) wheelie bin, inside and out, laying it down on the patio and crawling half inside it, to reach some bits of rubbish resisting removal – to the bemusement of the man next door, who’d come out to attend to an unusual garden feature: a magnificent machine, his motor bike. Then there were the floral vinyl house number stickers to apply to the back and front of the bin – a hugely fiddly affair, which involved a lot of peeling and pressure and the use of a credit card to smooth out the bumps… And less energetically, finally used up the last of the carrots bought at Christmas…

A friend arrived, bearing a bunch of daffodils – a glimpse of spring these endless dim, dank days – while surrounding the trees in the park facing The Cottage, yellow and purple crocuses…

Into central London, an hour’s journey to Pimlico turning into 3, the Victoria line suspended ‘due to a defective train’ at Euston…but worth it to see someone else I used to work with for tapas at Goya, another lunch to celebrate my finding a home at last.

A Discussion Group at Enfield Library and a talk in Islington about the history of the Foundling Hospital, near my old home in Bloomsbury. And the sun began to shine for a unique event: the naming of a little local bridge after a cat called Barney (the only bridge in Britain to be called after a cat) – who ‘loved people’ and used to stroll over it… Said hello to a couple of other residents and the owner of the departed pet cut a red ribbon, while in the background a jazz singer sang about ‘blue skies, smiling at me’ – which today was actually true.

February 4th – February 17th, 2025

A shock and warning one morning to find the same precious front door was unlocked and ajar. I couldn’t have shut it the night before quite firmly enough or pulled the bolt at the bottom quite across enough… I wasn’t murdered in my bed and the handbag lay untouched on the sofa, but had a firm word with self. The area might look more country than town, but it was still London….

Began to make a few new connections. At a U3a pub lunch, for instance, met a Jane, a Rose, 2 Sandras and 2 Helens (but sadly, no Jacks, Rogers, Simons or Harrys) – most of them widows and very welcoming.

A hole in my mouth, where a back tooth had finally given up the ghost and broken away, which meant a day trip to the dental clinic near Stafford, to arrange a ‘treatment plan’ involving extraction and implant… And back to the respiratory Clinic F at UCH, for another appointment with my delightful consultant – who confirmed what I had long suspected, that my Wildean condition (Lady Windermere’s Syndrome, a distant relation of TB) was indeed responsible for last year’s odd and overall weight loss. ‘You can eat as many cream cakes as you like!’ then more seriously, ‘don’t worry about your lungs, Lady W. Leave that to me!’

Tried out different transport links – like the overground service now called the Windrush Line, from Southwark to Highbury & Islington – fewer steps than Finsbury Park – then another train, 20 minutes, 7 stops – to Enfield Chase.

Then another day into central again, to the British Museum and an exhibition called Silk Roads, about the ancient trade routes from China to the Mediterranean Sea. Almost certainly the only visitor whose companion – my son, the constant traveller – had actually been to Samarkand in Uzbekistan, once conquered by Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan and much later, by the Russians…

January 22nd – February 3rd, 2025

A busy time for the little kitchen – an extension with a flat roof – where the ‘plumbing specialist’ dived under the sink for the umpteenth time and finally won the battle of the stopcock. The old one, of antique origin, would stay in situ – immutable for ever – but a pipe was cut into or something and a new one put in place. The washing machine and dishwasher left by the vendors were disconnected and dumped on the patio – unwanted white goods to be collected later by two men in a van, destination unknown… The plumber was congratulatory when his job was done – ‘you now have control of the water!’

Which was unfortunately far from the case – a domestic kind of Canute came to mind – because a day or so later, raindrops kept falling on my head… Not from the sky, but from the kitchen ceiling – the water somehow seeping in from the roof – so another man came and climbed through the back bedroom window and said it was a’guttering issue’ – though I’d need a new roof at some point…..

A trip to the Odeon Luxe in Tufnell Park – to see an over-hyped, horrible marathon movie (The Brutalist) with Rachel. Rare these days to be out alone after dark, but the nearest station was closed – so a tidy walk through the streets of Enfield Town, a crescent moon for company. I’d forgotten to leave a light on in The Cottage, but the white fence had a gleam of its own and my neighbours’ porch lamp guided me down the garden path to my own front door and my hand in the turning of the key.

December 16th, 2024 – January 21st, 2025

Enfield Chase, North London

‘Are you the new resident?’

The man who smiled and paused on the footpath at the front of The Cottage on the second day of January and turned out to be somebody in the residents’ association, reappeared on the third with a card wishing me welcome and a present: a history of the area. Then my next-door neighbour to the right came up the garden path to say hello and ask if the pest control people could look at my drains…. (No idea where they were, but yes) Unfortunately, there were other recent arrivals in the locality – rats!

I didn’t fully move in until the 21st December – that is, actually sleep there in the bed that had travelled in a removal van from Staffordshire only days before, together with all the rest of the stuff in storage for well over a year. Reunions with my beloved books, but no shelves to put them on…and with other dear friends like my clothes, which seem to have bred in captivity…. Got rid of so many in Lichfield, but there’d have to be many more trips to the charity shops and more furniture would have to go too.

The chaos of cardboard and plastic boxes and umpteen carrier bags would last for weeks – the attic a lifesaver of a space – but I’ve still not found the iron and the knee-high boots…

Emails and calls: to Thames Water, Octopus Energy, Enfield Council and BT – all made on the phone, because still unconnected to the internet. A handyman found on loveyourdoorstep put up a few pictures and the notice board, then the electrician came – or maybe after -and then the ‘boiler and plumbing specialist’, still defeated by the ‘seized’ stopcock…

Christmas was divided between The Cottage and Portsmouth, the New Year begun in company in the house in Tufnell Park – two nights in The Room, my base for so long. Back in Enfield, the simple, profound pleasure of my own front door and an uncommunal bathroom and kitchen and a bed that didn’t live in the wall….

And last Friday, the man found scuffling in the bushes outside was actually the open-reach engineer trying to locate a cable and sort out my ‘connectivity issues’… The newly-delivered hub soon glimmered with a circle of blue light and the computer came to life!

So I sat down at the desk and looked through the casement window – and there it was, the view of the park, the Chase – once a royal hunting ground. Not exactly Versailles, but a Vista all the same. Bare trees, the odd duck or bird on the frosted but still green grass. A woman sitting alone on a bench by the narrow New River. And on the road in the distance, a red bus paused at the lights then moved on.

December 3rd – December 15th, 2024

From Finsbury Park to Enfield Chase overground station, then through the park, past the war memorial, then across the little Victorian bridge – over sparkling water – to The Cottage. Watched this time by the local ducks. It was hard to believe that this was actually London, not a village in the sticks….

So many everyday actions for the very first time in new interiors – turning on a tap, opening a drawer, putting a cup on a shelf… though yet to spend the night there.

On most days, the same journey, back and forth, with a rucksack and holdall – but on the second Sunday after Completion, my son fitted most of my remaining belongings into the boot of his car….

Saw the superb film Conclave and met a friend or two, including the one in Surrey – but began to cough rather consumptively, still under investigation at UCH, where they think I may have a deep-seated bug apparently partial to slim older women: Lady Windermere’s Syndrome! (Dear Oscar, wonder what he’d have said.) So had to start a course of penicillin pills. A nice connection to the past – my mother, a Red Cross nurse in the war, once met the great man who discovered the first antibiotics, saving millions of lives. Alexander Fleming.

A series of utility-related visits, the first from a slightly camp Carl of Elite Electrics, who said the system was ‘safe enough’ and entertained me with talk of sockets and switches and circuits…. And on another solo trip – different ducks – opened the door to the gas and plumbing man, who said he ‘knew these cottages’, his tone a little grim. He took one look at the boiler and refused to touch it, let alone service it. ‘at least 40 years old.’…but it should see me through the winter… The stopcock, however, was ‘seized’ and must be replaced without delay. We had to be able ‘to control the water’…

At one point in this inspection, he asked if he could use my loo. ‘Of course’, I said – and then something happened in my head and my heart, no, through and through….

My loo…. In my property, my cottage!

***

A pause now over the Christmas period. Suspect there may be ‘connectivity issues’ at the new address, but aim to resume the Notes 5th- 7th January, 2025. Thank you for reading them and every best wish for the season and way beyond. Tessa X

November 18th – December 2nd, 2024

Watched by a seagull on the chimney, I unlatched the white picket gate facing the park, then walked up the long garden path and turned the key in the door.

The obstacle race run from the offer made in August to the purchase in November was finally won. On Thursday the 28th – over a year since the leaving of Lichfield – The Cottage in the northernmost borough of London became mine.

A faintly exotic scent in the front room, from a purple orchid left on the mantelpiece – a gift from the vendors. Who also left a newish bed, a good wardrobe and toilet tissue in both loos. Things seemed in generally fair order, so my son and I headed for a historic tavern nearby called The Crown and Horseshoes- my local. But it couldn’t be a celebratory lunch, not this time, because the last few days were a series of last-minute hurdles, which took a toll on us both. The worst was late Monday afternoon after exchange of contracts – when the solicitor informed me of an error made in accounts: I’d been undercharged by just shy of £12,000…

So on the 26th – two days before completion – a mad rush to the nearest Nationwide and a deep dive into my poor remaining ISA and a second Chaps payment.

The latest time of transition then began – the move away and out of The Room which – mercifully – could happen in stages over the next few weeks. Last Sunday, Rachel and I went to Enfield Chase, once a royal hunting ground, her car boot and back seat piled with clothes – garments which had hung high in covers in her garage for 15 months.

Gave the most faithful of friends a tour of the small but very special property. A few letters lay on the mat in the porch, including a ‘welcome’ from EON, the electricity suppliers – and my first Christmas card, which read ‘Joy to the World!’

November 2nd – November 18th, 2024

A shriek of sound through the whole house – the electrician testing the state-of-the-art fire alarm system installed at the council’s insistence, one of their requirements for a House of Multiple Occupancy. Smoke alarms on all the high ceilings – 11 in total – including the one now winking in The Room.

Back to the respiratory department at UCH, to have my lung functions tested, which involved a lot of puffing and blowing into a tube, wearing a nose-clip….. The consultant was quite pleased – I’d passed the breath tests – adding ‘and you’ve gained weight!’ so tried to look suitably delighted.

A lot of Times Radio during the night, following the election across the pond and the return of the sheriff: Trump 2. And most days made yet more calls and sent more emails – to the lender, the agent, the solicitor -until at last, a Result.

The solicitor said the full mortgage offer had come through and sent me a Report on Title and could I come into the office to sign the papers? The proposed completion date, the end of the month. I should have felt relief, at least – but far too flattened to feel anything….

So my friend and I padded down the road to the Odeon Luxe, to relax in the nice recliner seats, the movie about battles of a more physical kind: Gladiator II. Not a patch on the original – a mad marathon of blood and gore, a fight in every scene, sharks in the Coliseum arena… but also, in the few quieter moments, a reminder of words the first film made famous. What we do in life echoes in eternity….

October 22nd – November 1st, 2024

Too much time in The Room – in daily expectation of a sign from the solicitor that the mortgage offer, key precursor to the Contract, was safely in place. But no such message arrived, though the broker promised me he was doing his best. A friend made a mournful comment about ‘forces beyond your control’….

The only nice if ironic news was the publication of Neither Here nor There in a rather classy magazine with links to Waterstones… So, desperate for a change of scene, pinned a (large, knitted) poppy on to my jacket, threw a few essentials into a rucksack and got a train from St Pancras to a town 30 miles to the east.

Rochester, Kent. Famous for its connections with Charles Dickens, who set some of his stories there, and with the Huguenots, the first refugees to come here from France in small boats…. In the second oldest cathedral in England, my spirit settled for a while – and from the battlements of the castle keep, wonderful views of the River Medway curving away to meet the Thames estuary and the North Sea. Waters once home to the Hulks, the old prison ships.

Into a lot of shops, three cafes and a restaurant – not what the Chancellor would call a ‘working person’ but contributing to the economy all the same – and one pub, called Ye Arrow. Where I drank a toast to my elder son, who turned 40 the same day in Poland, a thousand miles to the East. In another historic city, one I’ve visited twice and felt curiously at peace in – Kracow.

October 8th – October 21st, 2024

Enfield – where a couple in animated conversation were standing outside The Cottage, taking photos of it. The For Sale sign, to my dismay, was still in place – no ‘sold subject to contract’ in sight. When I had a wee word with them, the response was indignant – ‘we could have wasted our time’ – and sympathetic -‘publicity at your expense!’ Whereupon the woman got a pen out of her handbag, reached up and crossed out the offending For Sale and the man gave her a kiss. Then the kindly vandals left the scene and disappeared back into their own lives…

The agent was apologetic: the sign should have said ‘I’m Taken!’ and would be removed right away – but wasn’t entirely reassured.

Flu and Covid jabs. The Apprentice at the Odeon Luxe, a movie about the young Donald Trump.

And a train to St Albans, once Verulamium, a Roman city – and the Prae Arms, a pub once a manor house , set in grounds leading down to the River Ver. For a Reunion Lunch in memory of a dear school friend on what would have been her birthday. 10 of us around a round table in a private dining room upstairs, which proved tricky for the three of us with mobility issues….. And what I thought was a bit of sweet red pepper turned out to be an explosive piece of chilli – and nearly expired myself.

Back to the house in Tufnell Park now invaded – but nicely – by Rachel’s grandchildren, here for half-term. A jigsaw on the front room table, little yellow boots in the hall, rice crispies on the kitchen floor….

Mists outside in the morning and some of the local trees beautifully ablaze with the the gold of autumn – but the mood in The Room less than mellow, because I had my own jigsaw to complete and one bit was missing. All parties now knew my wish to proceed, at pace – but Barclays messed about with the mini-mortgage (shortening the term, which made it unaffordable) and the new lender apparently wanted further documentation, including my passport – to be sent by post.

So still not a done deal….

September 23rd – October 7th, 2024

When it came, the Building Survey, in hard copy, was 87 pages long, plus several less than scenic photos of damp patches at the back of cupboards, a dodgy-looking drain, an antique cold water tank in the attic and rotting timber window frames…. But the basic structure was sound enough and the summary said, ‘no material areas of concern were noted’….

Then followed an uneasy exchange of emails – so hard to know who to contact in which order and how and when, the solicitors or the agents? In the absence of any current safety certificates or boiler/other service records, I would have to arrange the gas, electricity and plumbing checks myself prior to purchase, as soon as the vendors agreed to access…. So much, as so often, depended on goodwill. Then there was the Insurance to sort out. So a bit of a wobble for a day or two….

The monthly U3a meeting was a welcome diversion. The speaker was a keen collector of ‘eccentric contraptions and gadgets’ from between 1851 (The Great Exhibition) and 1951 (The Festival of Britain) and held up and handed round assorted items for our inspection. What did we think this was for? No, a metal mask with screws and straps attached wasn’t an instrument of torture but a ladies’ nose-shaper…..

And a visit to the National Gallery – one of my ‘friendships’ – was also an excursion into a wonderful world of starry nights and sunflowers: The Van Gogh exhibition. My companion, who isn’t really ‘into art’, said he loved it. Only Vincent could make of a simple wooden chair with a woven straw seat a ‘speaking’ living presence. Someone like him – a fanciful but curiously comforting thought – would understand and hear the call of The Cottage.

September 9th – September 22nd, 2024

A prisoner for a couple of hours, while the latest strange man to appear in the house spoke in tongues on his phone, while also wielding a very large machine outside The Room, steam-cleaning all the carpeting – the landing and stairs damp underfoot for days….

A second scan at UCH, where the Respiratory Team are very interested in the problem that showed up in the first one. The consultant, who showed me graphic pictures of the scarring on my lungs I’d rather never have seen, was puzzled by my life-long lack of symptoms. No breathlessness, no asthma, no history of TB in the family… though I did have whooping cough as a child in the early in the 1950s, when – he said delicately – ‘anti-biotics were less advanced…’

The Odeon Luxe down the road – to see ‘Lee’ with Rachel. About the Vogue model-turned-reporter, famously photographed in a Munich apartment in 1945 sitting in Hitler’s bath, her boots on the floor – dirty with the mud of the morning of that day, when she was one of the first to visit Dachau…

Something of a lull, waiting for the results of the Building Survey, but a few scraps of information from the sellers – no gas or electricity safety certificates, but they’d found the stopcock…

So I began the old routine of packing away the lightest capsule clothes brought from Lichfield thirteen months before… except for the sandals – my favourite footwear, that I’ll wear for weeks yet. Then sat in the garden in the soft September sun as the Equinox approached and another summer finally slipped away.

August 27th – September 8th, 2024

24 hours in the Midlands – for a trip to the dental clinic, to review a troublesome tooth with a ‘Grade 1’ wobble and another deep-clean of my poor gums… then a sleepover in Lichfield, in the blissful bed in my friend’s bungalow, adorned by her spirit creature- the hare – on cushions, place-mats and figured in stone in the lovely garden. (Mine’s a trio of totems: the giraffe, the blackbird and maybe the bee.) Postponed lunch with another friend, because I had to hurry back…

…to the historic heart of Enfield, the Old Town area – to pop into the solicitor’s again, hand-deliver a cheque to the surveyor’s office and visit the Civic Centre (HQ of the council) to ask about parking permits etc then Pearson’s, the department store there since 1903.

And a few key conversations on the phone, including one with my ‘dedicated adviser’ about his recommendation for my bespoke mini-mortgage and the process of applying for it….

Plus a pile of paperwork to go through, box by box, line by line… The Room more of an office now. The Property Information the fattest form, page-wise, but astonishingly thin on information. A lot of blanks, giving rise to several questions. Nice to know there was no Japanese Knotweed around and that the flood risk was ‘low’, but the age and make of the boiler was ‘unknown’ and the sellers – two sisters, whose mother had lived there for years – didn’t know where the stopcock was!

Alternated between a slight daze and an icily clear frame of mind only the pills made possible. Began to tell a few people my news, sending on the link so that they could see pictures of the quirky and antique ‘character cottage’ set in a park, with its beams and nooks and crannies, uneven roof and tilted chimney… Their responses were eerily identical, making me wonder a bit about me and them…. ‘It’s so very you, Tess!’

But I haven’t unsubscribed from Rightmove alerts just yet, because – as my mother would have said – ‘there’s many a slip ‘twixt cup and lip’…

August 13th – August 26th, 2024

The cottage was in the heart of old Enfield, a ‘charming character property’ at a reduced but still silly price. There was no back garden and the boiler looked a less than charming character….but the long lawn at the front faced a park…

The next day – the agent showing us around in a lacy black cocktail style dress – a second visit with my son, whose approval was essential….. He’s tall and the beams were not far above his head, but he laughed… Then the two of us sat in a cafe nearby and he helped me fix on a figure (serious but below the asking price) and fill in the offer form on my mobile….

A positive but provisional response from the vendor, followed by a frantic week – rushing around to the bank and building society, then the solicitor’s to deliver key documentation (proof of identity and un-laundered funds) by the simplest and safest method for me: in person.

High-stress stuff and sleep in fragments but felt fine till the night I pulled the bed down from the wall and the edge knocked against the desktop tower, which fell to the floor – dislodging and damaging a crucial cable at the back, putting me into a panic. Need the desktop to work, visually, mentally; pensionista needs it! A spare part not available – computer too old – but the young lodger upstairs came down and flattened something and tweaked something else, then managed to shove the poor plug-in into the right place, bring the computer back to life…..

A few really nice moments – like dinner out one Saturday night with Rachel and a friend over from Ireland in a Turkish restaurant with an odd decor including flashing lights, bottles stuck in a wall and a mediaeval wooden plough suspended from the ceiling. On the way back through buzzy streets, the air warm and soft, the sky a beautiful late-summer blue.

Then a few days later, news that sparked not joy but relief and gratitude to whatever forces at work in this story. The chain-free offer had been formally accepted. A full-on structural survey would be essential. My Cottage with a View dates from the 1600s!

July 30th – August 12th, 2024

Park rage. I was pausing in the little local public gardens, to have a quiet Think, when the woman sitting on the bench nearest mine started feeding the pigeons and I suddenly found myself in a scene from a Hitchcock horror movie – the Birds not only alighting on both benches but flapping around my head as well as hers…. The only other seat in the area was occupied, so asked her to stop – but, headphones in her ears, she didn’t hear me -or care- so the feathered frenzy carried on…forcing me to get up and go… The Selfishness of Some People!

Sunny Surbiton, in south-west London, for lunch at a riverside restaurant with my elder son, then a trip on a boat which chugged past Thames Ditton island – opposite my cousin’s back garden, which slopes down to the river. She was there, about to be startled by our wild wavings and greetings from the passing boat, till a flash of recognition and a kiss blown back across the water.

Two peaceful courtyard gardens. One an oasis with palm trees in the Royal Academy, for drinks with the son from Enfield. Then an exhibition about Modernist Art in Ukraine, 1900-1930 -pictures loaded on to lorries and removed from Kyiv in 2022…. a story more inspiring than the actual paintings. The other outside space was at an old pub called the Lord Palmerston – Neil Kinnock’s local, apparently -the Olympics on a t.v. screen inside. With Rachel and an ex-colleague of mine she’d not met before – a fellow landlady. They got on well, despite a faintly competitive vivacity…

An extraordinary chat with one of ‘my’ agents – a core network now of 5-6. When I emailed him to set up a viewing in a Lavender Gardens, a rather fanciable address, he rang me moments later to say the property wasn’t for me. ‘You’d have to rip out all the carpets…the tenants left the place in an awful state.’ The pictures on Rightmove – a brief pause here -‘don’t show the worst of it.’ So they lied, in effect – but didn’t say that, thanking him for saving me a wasted journey….

But one Really Useful appointment – at the Donation Centre behind Oxford Street, to give blood: O positive, the popular, sociable type that mixes with most other types. Just under a pint. Which reminded me of a comedy sketch, years ago – Tony Hancock’s The Blood Donor – and his gloriously outraged ‘that’s an armful!’

July 16th – July 29th, 2024

The Community Centre in Somers Town, Eustonia – the area around Euston station. For the 5th and final Stress Management group – the focus on Unhelpful Styles of Thinking, like catastrophising, which I’m very good at. Glad I went – liked the people – but the problems we revealed to each other: the struggle to lose weight after multiple breakdowns, return to work and give up smoking after the death of a child – were too deep-seated for any Tools for the Future to truly tackle – but CBT the only therapy available on the NHS…

Three visits to a scissor-happy hairdresser on the Holloway Road, who took off not the requested 2 inches but nearer 5, exposing a neck longer than I remembered it. Then decided to change from white to light blonde – Something Different – but my hair didn’t agree and the colour didn’t take…. so went back a few days later for another hour sitting with a head of oven-ready foils, which worked, but turned me rather too Marilyn….

A couple of chapters a day of Our Mutual Friend- back to Dickensian London, the dead fished from the old river running through it… Alternating with The Plot, Nadine Dorries’ account of a modern underworld: the vipers’ nest of intrigue at Westminster…

Viewings at more frequent intervals these days, including a pretty cottage, where the only access to the garden was through the bathroom…. Felt a bit sorry for self, everybody else going off on holiday, to Spain, Switzerland, Italy, so I began to plan a short break somewhere less exotic – Essex!

But needing a sooner change of scene, took a train from Victoria to a suburb in Southwark, to visit one of The Magnificent Seven – the cemeteries created in the 1830s and 1840s in what was still open countryside, outside the city boundaries where the churchyards were full…. A guided tour of Nunhead Cemetery, part woodland and a wild-life haven. A long walk on a very hot Sunday, but worth the effort – because Death is such an inevitable Subject (though I’ll never fancy the Reality) and there’s so much of it around…

2nd July – July 15th, 2024

The General Election. Deep in Corbyn country, swarming with activists, another hard choice. Zero faith in the three main parties, the Greens a bit limp… thought of Reform UK, but a believer in the cause of Ukraine, which left the Independent candidates – so chose the one who wasn’t Jeremy.

Yet more work done in the house – an Alec and Dean spreading sheets on the carpets, preparing to re-paint most of the woodwork and ceilings, their ladders on the landing… A big job, lasting more than a week, the smell of paint pervasive, though at my request The Room was mercifully left alone….

Ewell, Surrey – to visit my widower friend, 91, in his new home: a luxury apartment with an extensive balcony and sky-high rent, resident chef and fitness trainer…. One of the few male residents, he’s become something of a target for the single women around, including a relentless widow pushing him to join the ‘singing for fun’ group, which he isn’t inclined to do. A glimpse of goings-on behind the scenes – all a bit Thursday Murder Club, the novel set in the deceptive tranquillity of a retirement village….

Three viewings in ten days, all in Avenues in Enfield, with the floral and military names peculiar to the area. The ‘under probate’ one in Brigadier had a broken boiler, the one in Primrose (the vendors due to divorce) more pricey but also more promising, maybe worth a second visit with the ‘traveller’ son now in Switzerland. The outside space, however, had no grass, tree or hedge for a blackbird to hide in…. When I asked a local about the street, he smiled. ‘No dangerous people!’

Events across the pond – the would-be assassin’s attack on former President Trump – took me straight back to November 1963 and a student flat in Brighton, Sussex, where I sat stunned by the news from Dallas of the death of President Kennedy. Which had nothing to do with the Euro final in Berlin I actually thought England would win, but somehow did. The end of a dream.

18th June – 1st July, 2024

Did my homework for the Stress Management group, filling in a form with questions like, ‘what fills and empties your stress bucket?’ with a helpful diagram of the said receptacle framed by a lot of lines, boxes, arrows – and drawings of taps. Then there was the ‘problem-solving record’ to complete and the list of ‘behaviour solutions’ to tick in order of importance… An exercise soon abandoned when it began to fill my stress bucket, fast.

Hampstead, North London. The Horseshoe gastro-pub for a lunch in memory of the colleague who died suddenly in March at 75- not a friend but very much part of my working life at a rough school in Kentish Town, which like him no longer exists. We agreed to meet every year on the same date, which would have been his birthday.

What to wear in the heat was a headache – most of my summery clothes in storage, didn’t think I’d still be in The Room – so went to Oxford Street in search of sandals and a cheap and loose dress (Clarks, Uniqlo, Primark…) and came back with a bag instead, from the sale at Accessorise.

Getting in and out of the house was another challenge because the front door wouldn’t open or close properly from either side – and when my key got stuck in one of the locks, leaving me on the step, the lodger had to climb out of her ground floor window to extract it and help me push and pull hard enough to get into the hall…. So two young men from a company called Identical-Locksmiths came to fix things, the reason for the name eerily obvious, because they were twins who looked and sounded exactly the same. ‘The trouble is, ‘ they said, ‘it’s a very old door, that doesn’t fit its frame…’

On Sunday, sat downstairs and watched England play Slovakia in Germany, exchanging the odd text with the son on holiday in Spain and the other in Enfield – a third uninspiring affair. Several fans left the stadium before the end of the match and I turned off the telly in Tufnell Park…

Which is how I missed the Magic Moments: Jude’s acrobatic kick and Harry’s header, seconds from defeat. Proof of one of my favourite pearls of wisdom – it ain’t over till it’s over…

November, 2023

It is now nearly 3 months since The Great Leap South, when I left the Midlands to return to the capital. The sale was completed at the end of August, ‘breaking the chain’ the solicitor said. The 3-bed semi was swapped for a spare room (henceforth The Room) in someone else’s house – a guest in accommodation shared with several lodgers….

Exhaustion felled me for a few weeks, but the hunt has now resumed for a permanent place to live- a suitable shed, because the direction is now down the property ladder… So I’ve met umpteen estate agents and covered miles through the streets of London and underground them too, on the dear old tube. It took ages to get the Freedom Pass, but it saves a fortune.

There have been trips out of town too – to Surrey, Somerset and Hertfordshire – to visit a widower in Epsom, a cathedral in Wells and St Albans, for a school reunion lunch. And as ever, a few culture-comforts in the great galleries, like the Chanel show at the V&A.

Most of my worldly goods are still in Staffordshire, in a warehouse I’ll never see -my storage baskets now in storage! For heaven knows how long….

The next Notes will appear June 3rd -4th, a shift from the weekly pattern to a fortnightly one – at least for the coming months. Thank you for reading the entries; the Diary is now 7 years old, pensionista herself now 9….! Tessa X

June 5th – June 18th, 2024

A visit to a gallery near Piccadilly for a private view of new work by a painter a few of whose earlier romantic landscapes hang in Rachel’s house – who gave us both a welcoming kiss. There was a photographer present but it was still a surprise a day or so later to see myself on Instagram at the exhibition, in conversation with the artist I last saw half an century ago, his hair still long and wavy, but silver now.

Portsmouth, Hampshire. For a lovely weekend with my elder son and his wife and the bliss of a proper bed. A long walk along the waterfront at Southsea, where Henry VIII once watched the sinking in the Solent of his warship, the Mary Rose. Pablo, let off the leash on the beach – shingle clumped with sea kale – chased everything that moved, including the waves…

St Albans, Hertfordshire. To attend an requiem mass that seemed to go on forever, the presiding minister a loquacious mumbler, the Order of Service unkept to, which was confusing…. but the last person to address us spoke movingly about a ‘truly beautiful soul’, her mother – and about ‘adventures abroad’ that I once shared. My dear school friend, whose coffin was made of wicker, topped and looped around with flowers, their delicate scent soon lost in the smoky odour of incense.

The CT scan showed nothing life-threatening – no sinister shadows – and feeling more myself and a bit more ‘solid’ – the weight still low but stable – woke up one morning and thought, ‘stuff it’. The Rainy Day was in a way here and now….so I might as well go for broke and spend every single penny available and so stretch the house-purchase budget… Quite a leap for a natural squirrel with Anxiety Issues! But oddly liberating as well.

May 21st – June 4th, 2024

Enfield – where the estate agent, busy on his phone, left me to view the over-priced little house by myself. A teenage boy’s bedroom, touchingly tidy, a view of a garage….. But found a salon nearby, where a Turkish girl cut my hair. Her English was very limited -‘more off, yes?’ – but left looking a lot less like Mary Beard.

In the big house in Tufnell Park, a slightly surreal scene. There was a window, sitting detached and alone on the landing, waiting to replace the broken one in the bathroom. While in the kitchen the long-bearded lodger was kneeling under the sink, swearing and surrounded by what looked like instruments of torture, trying to install a new food waste disposal unit….

The news was long-expected, but the loss still deep: the death of a school friend, a truly beautiful soul, in a hospice in Hertfordshire. On her last day, she apparently kept an eye on the cup final score and had a G&T or three….

University College Hospital – where my boys were born so long ago – my appointment in the Imaging Department of the impressive new building, spacious, spotless and quiet. The radiographer, who was called Benedict, told me to ‘hop on’ to a trolley, a bit hard to do with dignity, when the ‘gown’ I was given was an open-backed tent-like apron affair awkward to fasten. Then the trolley was slid into an unenclosed machine with a doughnut-shaped hole in the centre. A CT scan that took less than 10 minutes. Then my son and I repaired to the Prince of Wales Feathers pub near Warren Street, drank a lot of red and completed the quick cryptic crossword.

The National Portrait Gallery, the first visit for years. Just Floor 3, which took most of the morning. I’d forgotten how delicate Richard III’s hands and mouth were, how ugly the face of Charles II, how stolid the figure of poor Queen Anne…. Then, a wall or two away, I met and felt the direct and vivid gaze of a hero of mine, Samuel Pepys – the great diarist of fire and plague in Restoration London.

May 14th – May 20th, 2024

‘On a scale of 1-10, how likely are you to harm yourself or others?’ Other questions covered my sexual and recreational drug-taking habits. A box-ticking exercise, my answers tapped into a computer by the Trainee Wellbeing Practitioner on the other end of the phone. (Well, cannabis in the 1960s…) Only agreed to the NHS psychological support service on offer because it seemed rude to refuse.

An addition to the set of little white pills: a statin, to lower my cholesterol. Another face-to-face appointment with the GP who said that all the tests were otherwise ‘normal’ – but as the weight loss was still unexplained, she sent me off to have a few more….

Began to resume a few routines, including a return to Rightmove. Also painted my toenails a sunny shade of turquoise, my feet at least the same size. Coffee with a friend with troubles of her own – listening to each other with real attention, which helped us both.

A local car-boot sale was a riot of junk and jumble, but found some beautiful vintage tea knives for a fiver, while at the Methodist Church in Camden, a Reverend Lola preached about Pentecost and the ‘energising gifts of the Holy Spirit, which sounded wildly acceptable… And listened to a lot of Times Radio – ‘informed debate, breaking news’ – a reminder of the wider world out there.

May 6th – May 13th, 2024

Outside Charing Cross station, several people seated on the pavement, begging, or asleep wrapped in what looked like kitchen foil, ignored as just part of the city scenery. In Trafalgar Square, a crowd protesting about something, as usual, while St Martin-in-the-Fields was an oasis of peace and quiet – but my destination was the National Gallery, to seek out the company of old friends: familiar paintings, like Turner’s steam train and Vincent’s yellow chair, inanimate and intensely alive….

A lot of time in Eustonia – the area around Euston – where key places like the medical centre are situated. When I told the rather generously proportioned GP I was ‘still shrinking’, a rueful smile – then an instant return to her clinical self, prodding me about on a couch, then finally referring me on for a battery of tests.

Discussed the situation with my lads, with one on the phone , with the other at the house, which eased the maternal mind a bit, if not theirs… Both quizzed me about my food intake, as if talking to an elderly toddler with faddy eating habits… What did you have for breakfast? Answer: ‘a bucket of cereal’.

Time too in the very private garden, Rachel on a lounger, me on a chair in part sun, part shade. She tans a treat; I’m a quick-burn. The lawn is overgrown, scattered with daisies, forget-me-nots, weeds and fox-holes. The plant in a container on the patio – the one I brought from Lichfield last year – is much larger and taller now, more like a tree.

April 30th – May 5th, 2024

A members’ event at the V&A, where a guide took us a tour through umpteen galleries, the focus being bags in the collection – on display in cabinets or depicted in paintings, stained glass and medieval tapestries…in a world without pockets. From pilgrims’ purses to dainty drawstring reticules and Japanese inros, tiny lacquered boxes worn at the waist by men only.

A group of people got on the train, all shining smiles, which isn’t normal demeanour on the Northern Line. Then one of them started shouting that we were all going to hell unless we put our faith in Jesus, who loved us all in spite of our sins… The doomed passengers just sat there and hoped they’d get off at the next stop and spread the bad news somewhere else.

Thursday, at a polling station in a nearby church hall. One of over 6 million registered votes in London, I found the process a bit confusing. There were 3 long ballot papers, 12-15 choices on each. A yellow one for the ‘constituency candidate’, an orange one for an ‘assembly member’. The pink paper was to elect the Mayor, one of the names on the list a Count Binface, whose manifesto included a pledge to make Thames Water bosses take a dip in the river they dump so much sewage in.

In the middle of the night, a smell of burning. The kitchen downstairs was full of smoke. The oven had been left on by mistake, cremating some food forgotten by one of the lodgers. The fire alarms finally due to be fixed the following week…..

April 23rd – April 29th, 2024

After days indoors, had to go out to Morrisons and get some fattening food, to try to regain some of the weight lost in recent months – the Naked Self a scary sight – rice pudding, bananas, whole milk… And began a Diet Diary to record my daily intake.

Still on auto-pilot – the pills soon to run out – but the acutely anxious voices inside slightly more muted than before, so went out properly mid-week, into central, to see Entangled Pasts, 1768 – Now at the Royal Academy. An exhibition ‘exploring the role of art in shaping the narratives of empire and enslavement’ so more about ‘decolonial’ politics than paintings or sculptures, but worth the effort all the same.

And at the weekend, another trip to Gordon Hill from Finsbury Park to find another address – the 17th person to view one of a row of ‘fireman’s cottages. A nice ensuite, safe stairs – but impossibly cramped and the poor agent was required by law to tell me – and all the others in turn – that the house was under-pinned against subsidence caused by trees nearby, which could make buildings insurance an ‘issue’…

Lunch at the local Wetherspoons: an all-day vegetarian brunch, with fried eggs, baked beans and chips. Ate most of it, but the third quorn sausage went into a take-away carton and travelled with me on the train, tube and bus back to Islington.

April 15th – April 22nd, 2024

Cancelled a trip to Surrey – an arrangement requiring a more sociable self – but took a train north to the dental clinic near Stafford, a route passing through Lichfield Trent Valley, once the start and end of my journey, a life-time ago.

Enfield. For a viewing in the same nice street as the house with the radiators torn out. Distracted by another dodgy staircase, I forgot to check where the washing machine was, or even if there was a washing machine…. but a property the Traveller and I both found attractive in most respects. It was also way over budget, but the estate agent said the vendors were keen to move and might accept a lower price.

Then lunch at The Rose and Crown not far away – an old inn said to have been frequented by Dick Turpin in the 1700s – and set near an extensive green area, too wild to be called a park, with running streams and ancient woodland, where the highway robber, later hanged in York, once hid in the bushes….

Back on base, kept mostly to The Room. Took the sixteenth pill, went left to the bathroom or down to the kitchen and back again…. Watched a bit of television with Rachel and read her copies of the New Statesman. My son told me he’d research the cost of widening the treads of a flight of stairs – but I knew no serious, unshareable decision could be taken till this black and cold spring began to brighten. For now, it was one day at a time, sleep still elusive, the night still an obstacle.

April 8th – April 14th , 2024

St Albans, Hertfordshire. For a school reunion lunch at a restaurant with lawns sloping down to the river Ver, to mark the milestone we would all meet this year. But a bitter-sweet occasion – 10 glasses raised in a toast to people across the pond or who couldn’t come for other reasons. One sent a special message while she was ‘still able’, thanking us for ‘all the friendship and laughter over the years’. A place soon forever empty at the table.

A session with my therapist friend made little impact this time, though it was good to tell another human being how things really were without worrying or burdening them. Glad too that Rachel never read the Diary….

A viewing in the very north of Enfield. The house itself wasn’t bad – with more treadable, safer stairs and a visible boiler – but it was also deep in the shadow of three tower blocks and a very long way from the shops and just couldn’t see myself living there….

So functioned after a fashion – a chat here, a walk there, washing up or making toast, another page of a book, emails returned – but in slow motion, waiting and praying for the pills to start taking effect and help me continue. The blank screen at the station needed to change, and soon.

April 2nd – April 7th, 2024

Euston, Tuesday. Hundreds of people at the station, eyes fixed on the departure board high above their heads. Most of the trains were cancelled – a signals failure somewhere – but the one to Stafford and the dental clinic was only ‘delayed’, so stood in hope for an age then the board went suddenly and completely blank and the 9.02 vanished forever. The crowds milled about in confusion but the man besieged behind the Information Desk didn’t have any. I wasn’t going to make it, in more ways than one, because something began to break inside and I knew that the usual defences like counting my blessings and thinking of Gaza wouldn’t be proof against it. Part of me seemed to have gone far away, as if on the train that disappeared and would never depart.

So I walked into the medical centre mercifully not far away and told the girl at reception that I couldn’t cope any more – tears splashing on the shingles vaccination leaflets – and was seen by a real doctor soon afterwards. Had to cut to the core – the housing crisis, fears for the family – because she only had ten minutes but said she’d ring me in a fortnight to see how I was. Which was how I became one of over 8 million people in England on anti-depressants.

Enfield, Saturday. The Traveller couldn’t come to the Viewing, so it was just the agent and me in a house bought by a father for his daughter who broke up with her boyfriend and never lived in it. Some of the radiators were missing from the walls and Jason didn’t know where the boiler was and much opening of cupboards later it remained unfound. An overhaul of the electrics was required….. The Gordon Hill area, however, became the new zone of interest. Quite quiet and green, with shops and bus routes never far away – and a river running through it.

March 26th – April 1st, 2024

An email from my cousin’s husband, who rarely communicated with me direct. He wasn’t well and wanted to ask me a personal question, which was intriguing….and it was only a slight oddness in the grammar that really rang the warning bell of a scam….

An altercation in the kitchen. ‘If it’s not yours, don’t bin it!’ The Slovakian lodger’s plastic food containers had disappeared and she turned on her landlady, who does have a habit of throwing things out she thinks ‘clutter’ the surfaces for too long, especially if unwashed-up. A tupperware war! Retreated fast, my microwave dinner would have to wait.

Camden Lock market – early, to avoid the crowds – where the zebra crossings in the area aren’t black and white but multi-coloured. Along the canal and past a building once the HQ of TV-am, with plastic egg cups on the roof – ‘a fine example,’ apparently, ‘of post-modern architecture’ but which looked as silly as the flattened rainbows on the roads…

Another day, another walk, this one in Waterlow Park, where there used to be a little zoo, long ago. A glimpse through railings of crooked crosses and the huge stone head of Karl Marx on a monument, the most renowned ‘resident’ of Highgate Cemetery.

Easter – when I joined my younger son and his father and several tourists for a service in St. George’s, Queen Square. Only one proper hymn – Thine be the Glory – in a stream of samey songs of worship, but felt moved to do something I’d never done before. Went up to the altar, arms crossed in a gesture both yes and no – to receive not Communion, a wafer dipped in wine, but a Blessing.

March 18th – March 25th, 2024

The Shakespeare’s Head. A Wetherspoons in Holborn, where the ex-husband, a day older than me, chose to celebrate his 80th birthday. It’s a patriotic pub – anti EU alcohol. So no champagne; we drank an English sparkling wine instead…

Wanted to wake up to a new decade in a proper bed so treated self and the son travelling up from the coast to an overnight stay at the Tavistock Hotel. On the Day, a walk around Bloomsbury – which took us past one of the oldest trees in town: the Great Plane in Brunswick Square, planted in 1796.

Then a lift to the top of The Post Building and a roof garden with the best views of the city I’ve ever seen, the skyline broken by priapic structures like the Shard and in the far distance, a glittering ribbon of water – the River. Next, a travelling back in time to life in the Roman army and the steady thudding rhythm of soldiers on the march. A visit to Legion, the current blockbuster at the British Museum.

Then back to Covent Garden for a family meal at a brasserie, where the service was very slow and the daughters-in-law took against their ‘too oily’ tiger prawns – but a special occasion all the same. Then they put me into a fancy car with cream upholstery, sent by the Uber Lux service – so a ride back to base in style.

The routines in The Room resumed. Lowered the bed from the wall, then raised it in the morning. Re-filled the mini-kettle and turned the computer back on and rang an agent or two…

So, another chapter around the sun. Sad to see my seventies go, still only 39 inside. Too many cards for the window sill, so re-read then arranged them in a basket. The images well-suited to the moment, most of them of birds. Some in sleek groups of fine feathers, others just perched on high branches or building their nests – or alone on the wing in a clear or clouded sky.

March 12th – March 17th, 2024

A piece in the paper – about a discovery in Cornwall – introduced a lovely, if less than useful new word into my vocabulary: maerl, which is a rare and ancient purple seaweed that grows on the bed of the sea. A vast carpet of it had been found off the coast. Another word made its much more familiar presence felt: death.

Heard from someone I used to work with, who was shocked to see an RIP photo on Facebook and a notice about the unexpected demise of an ex-colleague of ours, the one who organised the annual reunions. Then Rachel told me, ‘Charles is dead.’ Oh no, not the King! But she meant the man who used to bring the sushi on Sunday, who spoke to her one morning then expired later the same day….

A walk was required – so we went to Hampstead Heath, one of the ‘lungs’ of the city. Under one of the trees, another bed of purple. Crocuses.

The Royal Opera House restaurant, where a tradition of inter-birthday lunches was revived. The vegetarian option on the set menu was ‘off’ and the service a muddle – but an occasion full of life, laughter and style. 9 of us – dear friends from Kent, Surrey, Lichfield and London. Including a milliner, a jazz singer and an owner-breeder of race horses… a landlady-therapist and 2 literary types. One a poet, the other pensionista, rather proud of her latest and overdue post….

March 5th – March 11th, 2024

I was there for fewer than 15 minutes. It was in a nice enough area, despite the tree abuse, the horribly pollarded trees in the streets – but there was something chilling about the vibe of the house itself which pushed me away and out of the door. Others outside were waiting to view it, a middle-aged couple having a heated row…. There was a body in a wheelie bin nearby, dark hair spilling out from under the lid, which turned out to be a discarded wig.

A train from Waterloo to Surrey. To see the widower, warm and witty company, whose limited mobility means he doesn’t travel much these days – but planning to sell his lovely house and move into a rented apartment, only £1,500 a week! And at 91, looking forward to ‘a new chapter.’ Lunch high on Epsom Downs, ‘Home of the Derby’ – in a restaurant called The Rubbing House, with a view of the racecourse.

Southwark, where my therapist friend and I discussed a method of making things happen -‘making manifest’ -called Cosmic Ordering. I was doubtful – the cosmos can have an odd sense of humour – but then again it couldn’t hurt and good to keep an open mind… You have to be very specific, so I placed an Order with the Universe: Find me the right house before the end of March!

Trafalgar Square, Friday. A friend and I met to investigate a rooftop cafe-bar at a hotel nearby, with a view of Nelson’s column far below. On the steps below the National Gallery, a peaceful protest – a line of women in red and white Handmaid costumes holding placarded photos of women murdered in Iran. It was International Women’s Day.

I’d never noticed the gender-neutral traffic lights there before – the green man gone, replaced by a confusing new sign of support for the LGBT+ community – arrows going in different directions… The Landseer lions looked unimpressed.

On Sunday, I cried a bucket, but in a good way. Calls or cards were expected, but not the arrival of big boxes… One a Mother’s Day Tea collection of goodies – like Prosecco and handcrafted ‘dessert bites – the other a bouquet of roses in subtle shades of cream, pink and yellow. Which now sits in a crystal vase and lights up a table on the landing.

February 20th – March 4th, 2024

The location was perfect – quiet, green, near to a station and a Waitrose. But the house on sale had a wonky staircase and needed the kind of refurbishment I just don’t have the time, energy or inclination for…

St Ann’s, for the second cataract operation, last on the list as for the first – so took self on a tour of the public areas and grounds of the hospital, with its fondness for floral and fruity names. Entrances called Cherry, Lime, Pear and Plum, the signs colour-coded. A Mulberry Centre and an ‘acute mental health facility’ in a block called – Blossom.

Back on base, Rachel resumed her bed-lifting duties, with moderate enthusiasm. The idea was to rest up in The Room for a while, but the house was about to become very noisy. A man came to ‘power-flush’ the system, which took more than 6 hours. The old boiler had menopausal-sounding symptoms and ‘circulation problems’. Great cylindrical machines soon gurgled downstairs and pipes were laid on the floor… and while the man tapped and banged on all of the radiators – ‘to help get rid of the sludge,’ he said – the soul-in-hell client had his regular therapy session and howled and shrieked in the front room….

There was also a lot of preparation to do for the open-house party at the weekend, to celebrate my friend’s turning 80. I offered to defrost the almost as elderly freezer, which was a more heroic effort than intended, because the ice around the inner pipes and lining the shelves was too solid to shift. The lodgers were worried their frozen food – now in the sink – would start to thaw out… because bowls of hot water made no difference. So I tried applying direct heat using my hairdryer, which did…though it took several hours before pools of water finally formed on the floor – old towels at the ready – and shards of ice like stalagmites began to come away…

The house filled with flowers, cards and people, including assorted cousins. An ex-lodger who’s also a chef cooked piles of fragrant food. The chairs ran out, so I sat on the end of a table. Champagne flowed and conversations got louder. One I’ll never forget. An elegant guest in a Chanel-style jacket said she had dementia, then told me a long, lucid and complicated story about her family and events abroad and I was the one who lost the plot….

February 13th – February 19th, 2024

Another restaurant recce – on the 5th floor of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden – with photos Of Maria Callas in her prime on the walls. A lunch interrupted by announcements that the matinee of La Boheme was ‘about to begin’….

And a local lunch with a U3a group, who complained – very loudly – that the pub was ‘far too noisy!’ At a table with a retired prison governor, a disc jockey in a 70s floral shirt and an over-tanned headteacher with a twitch.

Pond Street, Hampstead. A shampoo reclined on an undulating ‘massage chair’, then the first haircut for 8 months or more. A hairy coffee – some of my fringe falling into it – but left a lot tidier than when I went in. Outside the salon, a queue of ambulances outside The Royal Free, opened in 1828. The first hospital to provide free care for the poor. A labyrinth of white corridors over 12 floors.

Where I had an appointment in the neurology department, about the odd symptoms of numbness and tingling in my legs and feet. A battery of tests, pricked and prodded by an inscrutable Dr Antonin – but when the machines and the wires were pushed aside and my socks were back on, he smiled and said something rather surprising. ‘Thank you for coming along to see me!’

The next Notes will appear on March 3rd or 4th. The second eye operation later this month.

February 6th – February 12th, 2024

The multi-purpose smile (vague, neutral) – an essential in the elderly arsenal – was more useful than usual this week. Like when the cleaner came. A possibly paranoid Italian called Caterina, who does the lower floors, including The Room, once a month, which takes half a day. It’s a large house. Best to keep out of her way, but couldn’t this time, so was treated to a remarkable range of grumbles about the world in general, then the condition of the carpets, the inadequacies of the Dyson, a missing mop and bucket and one of the lodgers who she suspected of hiding it…..

For the first time, viewed a flat – because I felt I should. On the ground floor, with a balcony and the use of a garage – and affordable – but the agent’s talk of sky-high service charges and residents’ meetings and ‘administrative control of the budget’ chilled the blood…. confirming what I already knew. That a management company was the true owner of the property. Nothing really free then about ‘share of freehold’…

A weekend with the Portsmouth 3, with lots of real smiles and hugs. Watching television – a rare event, my own set in storage and my friend’s taste in programmes very different from mine – eating out in the Quays and walking the dog in Southsea by the shining waters of the Solent, big ships and the Isle of Wight on the horizon and the soft roar of waves breaking on a shingle rich in shells. Put a particularly pearly one in my pocket, to wash and to keep.

January 30th – February 5th, 2024

A day or so later, the residence-in-the-recess was empty, the trolley on its side in the street, also empty. He was gone I hoped to a better place – unless evicted by force.

A fascinating U3a talk about the dying days of the Empire in India. The woman sitting to my left seemed to have expired herself….but no, she’d only nodded off. The man to my right told me he organised Longer Walks around London, but I said I’d start with the Leisurely Walks and see how I got on….

And miles and miles on foot on my own around Enfield, hardly a happy hunting ground these days – to check out a few addresses from the outside. One was a Possible – rather far out but on a bus route – another a dump, probably a drug den. Peering through the front window, strange piles of white packets scattered on the skinny carpet… Nearby, two boys aged 9 or 10 were playing outside a shop – jabbing at each other with plastic ‘zombie’ knives, toys available on Amazon, who also sell the real thing – the killer kind, with a serrated edge.

The next recce was a nicer one. Lunch at Fortnum & Mason’s in Piccadilly with Rachel, to see if the restaurant was a suitable venue for a joint birthday celebration.

Viewed a brand new-build house, a plot on an ‘award-winning development’ – but none of the upstairs windows were at eye-level -in skylight style instead. A fatal flaw in the design. I was deeply despondent, but the Traveller, an expert in the field of AI, was cheerful. ’When I’m really rich, Mum, you can live wherever you want!’

January 22nd – January 29th, 2024

A second viewing. The agent who showed me around was the jokey type. They didn’t usually let him ‘out of the office’ and it was rather surprising the way he pointed out not the period features but what was wrong with the property…. ‘These window frames need replacing and the back door’s a bit dodgy too!’ A black ball on the sofa – the cat, who gave us a single scornful glare, then went back to sleep.

The Wellcome Trust, on Euston Road. For The Cult of Beauty exhibition. Which was a disappointment, less about the nature and ideals of human beauty than identity politics, the language far too up-itself for any visitor not into ‘intersectionality’ or the ‘cis-gaze’, let alone ‘gender phenomenology’ or ‘misogynistic socioeconomic systems’… The bust of Nefertiti, eternally graceful in a glass case, was one of the few really eloquent items.

A friend came for coffee in the large and pleasant kitchen, then up to The Room – amused by the way I’d personalised it. Pearls and pendants hanging from hooks, a capsule collection of books on a shelf, an ornamental giraffe on a window sill….

The vendor might well have accepted a lower offer – a sale at the asking price had fallen through – but decided against the cat’s house. It wasn’t the repairs required or even the lack of an upstairs loo. I just didn’t like it enough to stretch the budget for.

An early morning walk, past a ‘property’ on Tufnell Park Road. A recess in a wall, the ‘doorway’ a supermarket trolley draped with a blanket against the wind. And buried under some bedding, someone asleep on the ground, the only part of him visible a pair of trainers in a smallish size, maybe for teenage feet.

January 9th – January 21st, 2024

The Moorfields cataract clinic, where the nurse’s smile was professional. ‘There are 7 of you on the list today!’ I turned out to be no.7, which meant a 3-hour wait, while the Traveller tried to find a parking space then sat in the cafe with his laptop. Patients who’d been ‘done’ re-appeared, then left – some unsteady, all wearing large eye-patches….

My brow marked with a black cross above the target eye, I was finally wheeled on a trolley into theatre. It was a painless procedure, but half an hour under a mask fitting over the whole face was a bit claustrophobic. Then, the last elderly pirate, they gave me a cuppa and a custard cream. My son was cross; he’d been given a parking ticket… 24 hours in Enfield before being returned to base. Rachel took over bed-lifting duties, while I followed the ‘eye-drop schedule’.

Resting one afternoon, a seismic tremor spread under the carpet. The Room’s only a door away from a space where the washing machine lives and when someone’s using a high-spin cycle, the machine gets the shakes and vibrations can be felt throughout the house…

Put on my best dark Garbo glasses – a shield against the wind and city grit – and took myself to lunch at the British Library- the largest in the world – and began to relax a little in one of London’s finest buildings.

But the self-destructive demon was still at play. Once, I couldn’t remember if I’d taken the heart pill or not and didn’t dare risk an overdose…. And the next day, I managed to slip on a plastic envelope left near a chair and fell on my back, fortunately, but badly bashed one foot, which swelled up to an indignant degree…

Still, no bones broken and the eye which flickered in the mornings like an old movie screen began to settle down and I was soon able to read, write and watch i-player as before, but – with a brand new lens – much more clearly now. A First World wonder; the most common operation in the UK.

And another gift arrived, from a friend, to light up a corner of The Room: a plant in a pot. Roses in one of my favourite colours – yellow. So I returned to Rightmove…. Very few possibilities out there, but decided to re-view a house first seen in November. The one with the snooty agent and the cat who piddled on the perfectly polished floor….

January 1st – January 8th, 2024

A Viewing of the end-terrace in Enfield, shown around by the very Catholic seller herself – the walls covered with holy pictures, one a photo of St Therese of Lisieux, my favourite if I have one. Which seemed to be a Sign. So sat with my son (the Traveller) in a nearby pub, who agreed the house ticked too many boxes not to make a decent offer, which she accepted via the agency’s message board. Then we celebrated with Prosecco.

Trying to get through to the entirely online Purplebricks was akin to the agonies of Virgin Media, but managed to make the offer official and – a bit excited by now – began to compare conveyancing quotes then sent another message to arrange the 2nd viewing the owner had suggested herself. The reply was a shock: she’d accepted another offer before giving me a chance to match it. So found myself in a bidding war – so far out of my comfort zone I was practically on an astral plane – and made a final offer above the full asking price, which for some reason known only to God, didn’t work. So the property which could have sprung me free – out of the Room and into a new life, was lost.

Shared the story with Rachel, too much a key character to be shut out of it- which was right but felt risky…

The tube strike was annoying but probably for the best because a very small part of me felt like throwing myself under something and be done with it all – but such an untidy death, and by the time the strike was cancelled, at the last minute, I’d come out of that particular tunnel and gone to the Odeon Luxe down the road instead – to see an inspiring film from a reclining seat.

One Life – about Nicholas Winton, who saved hundreds of children on the eve of the second world war. In one silent scene, he stands alone in a station, on an empty platform – waiting for a train from Prague which would never arrive.

The next Notes will appear on or near the 22nd if at all possible – when between cataract operations.

December 25th – December 31st, 2023

The morning after the Boxing Day before, a reconnaissance drive to check out two properties from the outside. One was the most shocking seen so far, at the end of a Jack the Ripper style alley, an address barred at both window and door and set in a rat’s paradise of litter. The other, however, back in Enfield, was near a tennis club and a bus stop. On the bijou side size-wise, but when my son peered over the garden fence, he spotted a timber shed….

I thought the lodger with the terrorist-prophet beard gave me a rather funny look, till I took a closer squint in the bathroom mirror and realised I’d mistaken one small pot for another and applied not moisturiser around my eyes but a cream blusher, to panda pink effect…

The National Gallery, for an exhibition about the 17th century Dutch master, Frans Hals. Portraits of people wearing so many shades of black – from silky jet to matte carbon – with white at ruff, collar or cuff. Men with moustaches, hand on hip, and demure but pink-cheeked women, the flirty twinkles in their eyes belying the sobriety of dress.

Back to Bloomsbury, my home for 15 years till our little flat was sold in 2008, to visit St George the Martyr church, built in 1703 where my boys were baptised. Joined my ex-husband, their father, for a somewhat evangelical service there. Tried and failed – yet again – ‘to say an absolute yes to Jesus’, no ‘buts’ allowed.

Lighting a real candle in a house still with no working smoke alarms was a risk – albeit a tiny one – so switched on an LED tealight instead, to mark the passing of 2023 into the past.

Woke in the night from a dream of battle in the streets, but the sounds of shelling and gunfire were fireworks far away – to welcome a new year less than two hours old.

December 18th – December 24th, 2023

Unsettling sounds from the front room a floor below. Howls of anguish, groans of torment. My landlady friend is also a psychotherapist, so they must have come from her client, probably re-living his birth or some other trauma.

At the cataract clinic, I was soon to have a shock of my own. I’d been aware of a change, but was told I was basically seeing with only one eye, effectively blind in the other…..and would be fast-tracked to have a new lens implanted…

Upset, I used my Uber app for the first time, to get back from the hospital, but the booking was cancelled – a pick-up point problem. The second attempt put me in a silver car – couldn’t read the number – with a driver who chatted non-stop to a mate in a rhythmic language I didn’t recognise – Somali.

A lunch in Hampstead in the company of ex-colleagues was a rip-off, with gift-free crackers. The trout I thought I pre-ordered was a violent pink and turned out to be salmon. A Chinese dinner later in the week, with carnivore companions, was also unfortunate – because the less than merry menu had graphic photos of the restaurant’s specialities – including pigs’ intestines, lambs’ brains, ducks’ blood pudding…

The house began to empty, one resident off to Scotland, another to Slovakia… So the kitchen became a quieter place to move and cook in. My longest journey was to Docklands, to see my therapist friend. To her I told the truth, that things were very dark and disappointing at the moment, so I just couldn’t connect with Christmas. But still found myself in John Lewis, one of a great crowd of last-minute shoppers, in search of proper crackers with gifts in – a Traveller favourite – and something irresistible for his wife: Chanel No 5.

High above Oxford Street, the illuminations hung in great fringes of ribbon-like streamers that ended in stars. And high above the whole city, in a sky still like night in the afternoon, the real and lovely light of a hazy halo around the moon.

December 12th – December 17th, 2023

A few yards from the house in Tufnell Park, a shrine appeared in the street. Bunches of flowers pushed through the railings, candles burning on the pavement and an unsigned card that read ‘I’m so sorry.’ A local told me there’d been a fight and fatal stabbing only the night before – the victim 21 years old, his killer 17….

Another stay in Lichfield, in a lovely guest room more like an apartment and a bed I didn’t want to get out of, in a house also inhabited by the festive figures of several Santas with woolly white beards, wearing fur boots, bells and berries, the biggest 3 foot high. Other presences too, in the rather fine, expressive photographs of racing horses owned and bred by my hosts.

Into the city centre, popping into the beauty salon and the hairdresser’s, to deliver a couple of cards direct – squirrels in snow. The main event was lunch at the same village inn as last year, with much-missed members of the art appreciation group, one of whom thought I should move to Portsmouth…

The train back stopped at Rugby. The next one was ‘composed of 8 carriages’, all too packed to get into. The third was cancelled altogether, which meant a long wait in a miserable space called the Customer Lounge, till I managed to get a seat on a fourth train – which took the scenic route via Leighton Buzzard and Watford Junction – next to an infant who wailed all the slow way south.

I’ve posted no cards this year, but nice to find a small pile on the hall table, musical angels and penguins on skates. Back in The Room, started to make a few calls and send some seasonal greeting emails – the screen a bit more blurred this week - and hung a new calendar on the wall.

December 4th – December 11th, 2023

Waited outside the now untenanted house in Enfield, but the second viewing didn’t happen because the agent didn’t turn up, sending an apologetic text – ‘she’d been unable to obtain a key from the vendor’…. Scouted other areas – thousands of steps – Arnos Grove, Southgate, Bounds Green – but the outsides of the houses on sale as grim as the weather.

Hampstead, where my friend risked a parking fine – to see Maestro at the iconic Everyman cinema, remembered as a bit of an arty dive in the ’70s, now with plush settee-style seating. The film was as flawed as its subject, the conductor-composer Leonard Bernstein, but the music was a treat and when we got back to the car, there was no ticket tucked on the screen.

Guildford, Surrey, taking 3 trains to get there. The first couldn’t leave Waterloo, because ‘no physical driver was available.’ The second got as far as Woking then stopped, because another driver was ‘delayed by a landslide further down the line.’ The third was jam-packed with decanted passengers, at least no room to fall over… But the trip was worth it, to have lunch with with the newlyweds, who’d driven up from Portsmouth, in a brasserie with a view of the castle keep high on a hill.

Reports that house prices were edging up were unsettling, so reviewed the finances yet again, maybe something missed at the bottom of the barrel…. Struggled with the new system of authentication, so rang the ‘help’ number. The first person I spoke to wasn’t one – sexless voice, unnaturally polite – and some of the security questions were near-impossible to answer. What was the birthplace of your spouse? I don’t have a spouse, I said. Ask me something else! But the non-person couldn’t cope with that and just repeated the question…

November 21st -December 3rd, 2023

A pale young man with a slightly strained expression offered me his seat on the tube, which was welcome. A few other passengers seemed to be looking at him with some hostility – surely they couldn’t object to the courtesy – then wondered if it was anything to do with the kippah on the top of his head…

The same daily routine – the raising of the ‘study bed’ to fit back into the wall and reveal the shelf below, then at night, the pulling down of the platform pallet – a bed with no back. A muscle building manoeuvre…. When the desktop on the shelf went black one day, I turned it off and on to no effect – then crawled around on the carpet below to check the connections a third time, finally finding a cable that linked something to God knows what else was ever so slightly loose. A wee push, and the computer came back to life. One of those tiny triumphs that can lift a mood…

Local ‘shops’. One to Sainsbury’s in Camden Town, which must be one of the ugliest buildings in Britain, another – more often – to Waitrose in the Holloway Road which still offers customers a choice between self or traditional service. And sometimes to Brent Cross with Rachel, who loves John Lewis.

A check-up with a nurse at the medical centre went well until she took my blood pressure – the figures far too high. The next day, I found the monitoring machine I’d brought with me and took my own readings, not good, so I rang the practice. ‘You’re number 19 in the queue’… Then eventually, an emergency appointment with a hard-pressed GP who put me on pills right away, ‘to relax your heart.’ Which was how all the years of not being ‘on’ anything came to a close. For the stress of the Move and the Search and family health concerns as well, a toll taken.

The dental clinic near Stafford, to be told that a tooth had a wobble – Grade 1 mobility, he called it, which sounded rather grand, a bit listed building, till he added, ‘it will have to go’… The poor tooth was uprooting itself and on the move, like its owner….

From there to Lichfield, to see three friends. To stay with one in a charming bungalow and sleep in a blissful bed with a headboard. And next day to meet another in The George, once a coaching inn, then visit a third. Caring and quality catch-ups that did my heart as much good as any medication.

Frost in the morning, the sun brilliant, Stowe Pool a mirror in the icy air. Still a green jewel of a city. A walk to the centre and the cathedral took me past the house so recently mine. A van on the drive, my St Michael sticker still on a front window. Only a feeling of mild interest, a semi-detachment….

Then on the train again, heading back south. Strange to be ending the journey in London now, but on the right track.

November 14th – November 20th, 2023

Enfield, for the viewing of another house in the same road as last week, but it was impossible to imagine myself living there, because the interior was a tip, the garden a wreck – and the tenants were still milling around. While I climbed over the wall-to-wall clutter, the Traveller thought he smelled damp and took a photo of the mould in the shower. In the small main bedroom, 2 or 3 children were asleep in the bed… In a cafe afterwards, he stayed positive…’prices still falling..’ but I’d had hopes for this place and was very disappointed.

A group of us at a round table in the Tufnell Park kitchen, eating from Rachel’s mother’s best china, with vintage fish knives, chatting away with ease until someone mentioned it was Transgender Awareness Week and how odd it was that a transwoman should be appointed chief of an endometriosis charity – a subject the men present found unpalatable. One of them, a Great Lover in his youth, apparently, was indignant. ‘Why are we even talking about this?’ My contribution was to do the washing up – a pyramid of blue and gold plates… There is a dishwasher, but for some reason it’s never used.

Crowds in Covent Garden- people sitting outside even on a cold night- a giant Christmas tree lit up in the cobbled square in front of St Paul’s, the classical church built in 1633. Where we attended a concert: a jazz trio with a singer who looked like Dawn French, the intimate lyrics more suited to a nightclub than the grand interior of the Actors’Church. Crowds after the event too – separating me from my companion – pressing towards the escalator, then piling on to the tube…

The next dispatch will be on December 4th. The Notes will usually appear once a week on a Monday, but sometimes a wider gap will occur. Love, Tessa.

November 8th – November 13th, 2023

West Hampstead, the Freedom Pass my friend, where a friend made lunch and I sinned on spaghetti bolognese. I’d forgotten to remind her I was a practising pescatarian these days…

3 hours at an outpost of Moofields eye hospital in Tottenham, the poor staff working with old computers in cramped conditions. A long wait and a lot of tests, then my height was measured. What that had to do with a pre-operation cataract assessment was beyond me, but nice to know that whatever other ailments lie in store, at least I hadn’t shrunk. (Still 5ft 6ins.) I was, however, soon to lose a small part of myself, breaking a tooth, not on a nut – which would have been understandable – but on a piece of cheese, from Waitrose…

Enfield, to look at a house in a tree-lined road, way above budget, but worth a look. The slightly snooty agent left her shoes in the hallway, asking us to do the same before showing us around. A black cat on the premises seemed to take a dim view of the proceedings and left a wee puddle on the polished floor – which I noticed just in time, but didn’t warn the agent – who put a sock in it…

Back in Islington, Rachel and I, Jew and Gentile – war babies both – watched the evening news coming in from Israel and Gaza, silenced by the slaughter of the innocent and the suffering with no end in sight.

Thames Ditton, Surrey. For a weekend with my cousin and her husband, whose garden slopes down to the river. A Service of Remembrance in the Chapel Royal, at Henry VIII’s palace at Hampton Court. A service attended together in a box-pew, under a vaulted blue ceiling studded with stars.

‘At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.’

October 29th – November 7th, 2023

Portsmouth, Hampshire. A stay at the Ibis hotel with my ex-husband – in separate rooms with porthole style windows. There for my elder son’s wedding to a woman he first met 18 years ago. (‘You can’t accuse me of rushing into anything, Mum!’) His brother – the Traveller – was one of the witnesses.

As our party left the registry office, a hearse drew up and a super-sized bride in black spilled out, looking like death, her equally ashen-faced attendants in pumpkin-orange outfits. A Gothic wedding, apparently.

The son’s ceremony was followed by lunch at a waterfront restaurant. The other guests, met for the first time that day, were French and Iranian, reflecting the bride’s heritage. The whole thing was a lovely balance between formal and friendly.

Then back to Waterloo and the Northern Line. Had a Viewing set up in Edgware, but after a recce of the area, cancelled it. Too depressing, the street too mean…

Ate early most evenings, to avoid the kitchen ‘rush hour’ when the lodgers do their cooking and the microwave and oven are in high demand… And every night, the same slightly strenuous routine, when the so-called study bed must be pulled down from the wall…