It has been a difficult week, in which I experienced a bout of post-new-curtain slump: the listlessness of one for whom the thrill of the chase is over when the new curtains are finally hanging on a double old ivory rail with button finials. I have been morose and taciturn, a constant visitor to the jar of glacé cherries for my nerves.
Did I tell you about the few years I spent running a café after I ceased to be a Banking Mogul? There was a dear little square room at the very back, past the kitchens, where dry goods were stored. Valrhona chocolate chips, glacé cherries, and so forth. Things often go wrong in the café business. When the chef got arrested, when the road collapsed, when the replacement chef was beaten up, I used to retire to that little room and idly eat cherries until I felt better. To this day a glacé cherry will help me through a tedious conversation about someone else's problems, or a tax return.
But when God closes one set of curtains He opens another. I have been just offered a new post as Professor of Chinoiserie, and am planning to set the higher mathematics aside to devote myself wholly to that area. How well dear Dr Ada knows me and my unending quest for the perfect toile.
This is the one that has been on my mind, River Song from Brunswig et Fils. It will be just the thing for a little sit down when my visitors flit back from the immaculate croquet lawn for their fortune cookies and lapsang suchong.
My sister has sent me some jam from England for our global breakfasting needs here in the pretty far west, where quinces are unknown. What a joy it was to receive an unexpected package after being out of the giveaway loop for so long.
You will note (top right) how few glacé cherries remain in their jar. Yes, with the curtains, with the flu, with Scottish Husband discovering Buddhism and Pinterest, it has certainly been a difficult week.