Mr Carmichael and I managed to get to New year’s day without a stir crazy, Northern Hemisphere, pouring every bloody day, induced barney.
Still New Year’s day made up for it. Mr C felt he needed to share some thoughts about my up coming resolutions or lack thereof. From my POV it was more of a venting on his part and sometimes it’s just best to let them get on with it, don’t you find?
I’m keeping my polite distance right now. Just on the off chance there was anything he neglected to berate me about yesterday. Oh, and I will be keeping my distance after tomorrow from Daughter #1 who is on a detox/fast/diet and won’t be the best of company all too soon, I predict.
Luckily the in-laws had us over for a yummy New Year’s Jamie Oliver inspired roast with crispy parsnips, potatoes (both sweet and regular). That nipped Round Two in the bud.
Last Saturday I actually managed to escape Casa Carmichael and met a friend in London for a bit of cultured R and R.
At one point in the planning my friend suggested she come out this way but as per the argument nipping I had to ‘deflower’ that option with alacrity. Noooo, I want to be a real person with a real life somewhere other than bedded down in Betjeman’s Metroland.
So we went to the Victoria and Albert Museum in South Ken to see the jewellery exhibition. Yea. I used to live in Kensington and do enjoy a stomp around my old haunts. I would like to stomp them more often, truth be told.
We did consider a return visit to Goldfinger’s modernist home in Willow Road, Hampstead. Another old stomping ground of mine, if you’re interested. But it doesn’t reopen until March when the daffs will be flowering on the Heath. We will go then and I will take some photos because it’s a brilliant place and if it weren’t a National Trust museum I would love to live there.
For now let me wet your appetite by giving you some interesting intel unrelated yet related to 2 Willow Road.
Ian Fleming, he of the James Bond goliath, lived in, or very near, Willow Road. Along with many others, he protested at the demolition of a number of Victorian cottages that were making way for Ernö Goldfinger’s modern designed townhouses. Unsuccessfully.
His revenge? Calling one of his villains after the architect.
When the Hungarian house designer learnt of not only the name but the proposed appearance of Fleming’s latest Bond nemesis, he consulted his lawyer. The author was heard to comment that it was not too late to change the character’s name to Goldprick.
Relax, I have not allowed Mr Carmichael any where near a spray can. But Goldfinger (the evil) did like a golden girl.
As, it appears, does our James.
The jewels were magnificent. And so, as I used to do with friends while turning the pages of Seventeen magazine, we chose out favourite bauble. At least S……. did. Instantly and immediately. There was no hesitation on her part.
She wanted the Van Cleef and Arpels ring, knuckle duster that it was. No photographs allowed in the guard-ridden jewel room so I have approximated.
The speed of her decision making left me speechless. And incapable of making a decision. Suddenly I wanted that ring too. It could have got ugly but I pulled myself together and allowed her to have it. It was the right thing to do.
We had afternoon tea with Eric Knowles (AntiquesRoadshow) and his son. In fairness they probably don’t remember having afternoon tea with us but we did have a good old natter and Eric, I really think you should make the effort to get to New Zealand next time you’re ‘down under’.
All four of us admired the tea room ceiling.
Eric admired S…….’s ring and valued it at $1,000,000,000 – $2,000,000,000. Yes, I am joking.
We admired some V and A members who were hanging around and staying out of the rain.
Then we drove to Gloucester Place, via Victoria (don’t ask) and enjoyed a fish dinner. It was a good day out.
Now, having just spoken on the phone to Daughter #2 I am appraised of the fact that she and her boyfriend (So How Was Christmas For You?) are on their way here.
A tryptic of avoidance strategies are called for. And a very large glass of NZ sav blanc.