For me, Christmas this year is cancelled, bad cold made luxury plans null and void. Most people will be glad to see the back of 2025. A few notable celebrations. I am suspected of being an arsonist. Two churches, one in Australia and one in Durham burned down just before Christmas, I was nowhere near. 

We had a traditional pre-Christmas lunch, guests at one were the actor Bernard Cribbins and our priest, then Assistant Bishop of Guildford. After lunch they settled by the log fire, the Bishop tried his hand at pantomime jokes and Bernard at sermon writing. In Positano, Italy, with five children, Rosa the maid came in on Christmas morning, she was large, cheerful, illiterate and had never been in a car.

In India, Christmas morning, the nuns went to market leaving us in the Jeep with several children. Next to us the bullocks had tinsel wound round their horns and crowds of hopeful sellers. The nuns, as we were European, found a type of Mother’s Pride bread and dessert of glace cherries. They stole a bottle of communion wine, and a cow was tethered just outside the window. In Jakarta, at 34 degrees we were invited to lunch by rich Brits. They had butlers in white gloves and we had turkey and Christmas pudding. I published a picture of a family Christmas on here, I was wearing a fancy blouse which I had made myself, giving a bottle to child number five, and for the life of me I have no idea who did the cooking, we must have had Christmas lunch or there would have been a riot.

Most spectacular New Years Eve, on a select cruise ship, between Sumatra and Java, followed by porpoises, enormous jelly fish and phosphorence. I danced with the engineer, a 6’5” native from the Sumba islands. Positano again, at the Bucca di Bacco night club (a tent on the beach); at 4 a.m. Mr G was still wearing a sweater despite the heat. Italians asked why, I said he was a cold blooded Englishman.  Italy again, the local police shot the old year out, accidentally killing the odd person in flats above. Waiters in rival restaurants vied with each other with fireworks; one dropped a cigarette in his stock and blew the restaurant windows in. Sydney was fantastic, justly famous fireworks, second hottest night ever, wandering back to our hotel, 3 million people? I had a super Indian dress, a silver top hat and a bunch of balloons. Village hops in Brittany, super food. In one corner was a tiny man with a huge wife, he wore his cap. At midnight he leaped up and chased me and my daughter-in law, kissing any woman who did not dodge. Reckon he had tongue pie for breakfast. If we left before 5 a.m. we were cat-called, Brits could not take it.

Do you have horrendous or hilarious tales? 

Signing off for the year. Happy 2026.

The Gardener

A Moodscope member