Some things not forgotten.

For a fine family.


In some ways, I am very easily pleased. When it comes to presents, I don't do perfume or bling: I like a nice trowel or a pot of honey. Or some rose-sented bubble bath. Maybe a pot of honey with a particularly cheerful--looking bee on the label.Yes, I'm bookish, but I gereally fare better when I acquire books myself. How about you? Historically, some of my favourite Christmas presents have been food ones -- things that people made or chose, knowing I would beam at them. This year, I was given particularly fine home-made pickle, which had been packed into fat little jars and with paper covers showing the lovely, quirky old house where they had been made. They had been wrapped in gold paper and decorated with a miniature bead Chritsmas wreath by a 10 year old boy. He placed them on a table and waited until they caught my eye. So you see why they pleased me especially. Because he took the time. But I am in danger of tipping too far into sentimentality here, so let me give you a brief account of foods given as presents -- just seared in the memory from infancy onwards.

The satsuma. Eaten in the night, the fruit felt very cold. It came from the toe of my Christmas stocking.

My first box of sugared almonds. The smooth texture, the pale colours -- like the most beautiful pebbles. I remember sucking on these, having extracted them from the gold box in my Christmas stocking.

Marzipan. However it comes. Love it, but don't have it any other time of year somehow. I'll say the memory of three beautiful little marzipan fruits brought up to our Paris hotel room just before Christmas by my husband. One year old baby on the floor at my side, sucking on a mango stone.

A jar of preserved stem ginger. An odd gift, you might think, from an aunt to a child. But I loved the look, smell, feel and taste of it. I recall that it glowed in its syrup and I made it last a long time.

That's all. Any more and you know I'll cry.