Golden Lady

 Sure there's a new president, which is great, and today a vaccine that's a 90% defence against Covid has been announced, so we might actually be able to leave our houses at some point. But the big news in my house is that Susan Garnett still likes me after exactly eight years. Not eight minutes and, frankly most people make up their minds after eight seconds, but eight full years. Let me put that in to some historical context for you: when we met Barack Obama had just been elected to his second term in Office. I know. That was THIS lifetime. Obama's not the guy in the stove pipe hat with the wart. Though they're of a similar vintage now. 

I greeted her this morning with a home-made card of Peter Bishop from Psychoville ("Thank you for not being too Hoyti Toyti to go out with me"), Jose Feliciano's version of "Golden Lady" and a delivery of delicious wines from the Vineyard. I had intended to get some tarte citron (known colloquially as "floor pie") but M & S were out, so Choux pastries will do. She bought some yellow roses and ingredients for a feast. We shall cook together, play music, dress up in our finery, eat and drink and then settle down to watch a creaky old British horror film*. And we will have a fine time. Just as we have done for the last eight years. 

She's so wonderful. 

*Peter Collinson's "Fright". Bought specially. Nothing says romance like Susan George having her home invaded.