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My crazy sister has rented out the wing of a mansion for Christmas week. And then invited all the family over to share some or all of the Christmas week. This isn’t the first time she’s done it, but it’s the first time we’ve been able to come - although only for a couple of days as we’re coming back home for Christmas with the inlaws. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but it’s much grander than I expected but around about 20 people will be staying here in the next 7 days and when you consider that it’s incredibly cheap and maybe an absolute bit of genius. There’s a massive dining room table surrounded by pictures of Tudors and Stuarts (and I think all the art is contemporary) and a living room with a real fire and a well-equipped kitchen and then, if you wanted 350 acres of grounds to explore. I kinda wish we’d come for the full week now, as full family gatherings are rare and people have travelled in from Africa and the Middle East and later another nephew is arriving from Australia and I can’t imagine there will be many more opportunities for this side of the family to all be together. It’s great to have this time with (most of) them, but with hindsight it might have been a good year to not do Christmas at ours.
I say that, but my favourite Christmas was Covid Christmas when it was just the four of us, so maybe a house full of Herrings etc would be too much for me. Let’s see how these two nights go.
The point is that I’d never have thought of renting out part of a mansion for Christmas, but taking into account the cost of heating your home, this might even turn out to be cheaper than staying at home.
We had picked the kids up at lunchtime as school ended at 1.15pm and driven straight here. It hadn’t been a bad drive and it took us right past Stonehenge and we only just missed sunset on the Winter Solstice. It’s a magical place to see at any time and I had forgotten how close to the road it was. As usual I mentioned how in the 70s we’d been able to go right into the circle and I am pretty sure I have pictures of my grandad sitting on one of the fallen stones. Traffic was slow and the lay-bys were shut and some people were milling around the stones. We must go and see it properly - if you can call standing at a distance and not sitting on the stones “properly”.
We played Christmas music and I got a bit teary at Drinking White Wine in the Sun, which I had professed to not liking as much as other Tim Minchin songs, but then immediately remembered how wrong I was. We weren’t going to Australia or to the sunshine and it’s almost two years since I last drank white wine, but it still packed a punch. We also risked listening to Song for Phil Daoust, even though the kids were in the car. It always makes us laugh as much as the first time we heard it. It’s thrillingly rude and wrong and self-defeating, but also critic defeating. Phoebe’s ears pricked up at the f word. I don’t think she knows the c word yet.
First night in the mansion was a bit of a blur of finding the place in the dark, unpacking, blowing up beds and collapsing into bed after the drive. But I haven’t seen some of the family for half a decade and it was the first time that I met my niece’s partner and only the second or third time that I met my great nephew. And I’d forgotten that I was a great uncle. It made me feel ancient. And of course I am
