It's beginning to taste a bit like Christmas!

“If we don’t go today,” warned Dearly Beloved last night. “We probably won’t go at all.”

I stared at him, a little worried.

 

“The weather” he went on. “It’ll be clear and cold tonight, and then it’ll rain like billy-o for the rest of the week. If you want to go to the Christmas market with me, tonight is the night.”

 

“I’ll get my coat.”

 

Dearly Beloved subscribes to a daily weather forecast from the airport. Once the airport failed to predict that no planes would be able to use the runway because a family of wild boar had sought grazing rights on the wrong side of the wire fences. This event was reported it as "snow". But generally, the forecasts are generally accurate. And no wild boar would stampede the Christmas Market in town, strewn across the Place D’Armes and onto the Place de la Liberte overlooking the Petrusse Valley.

 

Hats, gloves and scarves on, we joined crowds of different nationalities swarming round the gluhwein stands. I drank mine out of a china boot.  DB decided against it. We queued for the ever popular Gromperer Kiechelcher (and try ordering three of those after few gluhweins). Potato cakes in any other language, they are similar to Swiss rosti, mixed with herbs and some spring onions, and then deep fried.Sprinkled liberally with salt, they are the perfect accompaniment to a cold winter’s evening. A couple stopped us to ask what they were – so evidently not Luxembourgers – and were happy to try some of ours. We didn’t see if they bought any. Fighting our way past the Santa stand where we could have bought any Santa themed product from Santa Ear Muffs to a Santa Negligee with fur trimmed Thong, we found friends and joined them for a while- they represented the Merl Park Rangers football club and were out for a team building stroll, the warm drinks being purely medicinal.

 

Over the road to where the neon lights of the Ferris wheel lit up the smaller less commercial stalls. Local crafts were on sale and more attractive than the mass produced items we had seen earlier. Pottery, fabric iPad covers and jewellery were all beautifully made and sadly, not what we were looking for. It was getting colder and luckily, my favourite hot chocolate shop was there with its own stall. I chose the perfect hot chocolate combination: a chunk of dark chocolate on a wooden spoon, flavoured with Hot Chilli and orange, left to melt in the hot milk. Dearly B, wandered over to the Flammkuche stall, and waited while the paper thin dough was coated with Munster cheese and bacon chunks and griddled until slightly charred. We shared it but I wished the melted cheese had not dripped into my Hot Chilli and Orange. So difficult to manage this street stuff. It wasn’t as messy, though, as my previous visit to the Market, when I had a waffle powdered with icing sugar – on that windy day, it was a remarkably poor choice, particularly as I was on my way to the hairdresser and trying to look, for once, at least a little bit sophisticated. There was, as usual, the champagne and cremant tent, with smart lights and elegant high top tables, and by contrast the pancake tent, its primary colours and blankets looking heartily tempting. But we headed for back to the car, stopping only for my Dearly Beloved to fulfil a local tradition. He bought me a heart shaped LebKuchen.

 

Scheier Feierstag!

The Years come and Go

Despite becoming four years younger last week, I can’t say that I felt the benefit of it at the beginning of this week. Perhaps it was the extensive jet lag. 

Last weekend, the first weekend in December, I ate a fruit from Azerbaijan, tasting all at once of pineapple, banana and apples, and spicy samosas from Pakistan. I had Irish coffee and hot Canadian pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast and felafel for lunch. In the meantime, I bought Christmas presents for the family from Iceland and Slovenia, and Christmas tree decorations – “Delft” baubles from The Netherlands and star garlands from Germany. I tried on hats from Peru and leather from Italy. I bought three paperbacks. Yet it wasn’t a weekend devoted entirely to frivolous pleasures because I sold 100 jars of marmalade, 30 Christmas Puddings and 60 packets of tea from Betty’s Tea Rooms in Harrogate. Dearly Beloved, looking fine and manly in his Kilt and Braveheart shirt, talked whisky, sold Tombola tickets and posed for photographs. 

I think you have probably rumbled me by now. I wasn’t doing my celebrity tour for the fans – I was working on The British Stand of the Luxembourg International Bazaar. You may remember that last year I rashly volunteered and found myself making dozens of mince pies and selling cards and crackers. This year, I was Section Head of the Food stand. We have had a garage full of tea, biscuits, puddings, cakes, jams and chutneys, as well as the greatest collection of home made marmalade that I have ever seen. Some of the latter were a little challenging, arriving as they did with sticky sides and bottoms, and one, notably, with its mustard labels still intact and mustard seeds in the lid! And I made dozens of mince pies.

I did have help! Last year’s section head came over and we spent a long afternoon in our garage, washing and drying the marmalade jars, labelling and pricing and adding frilly tops. More marmalade arrived during the afternoon and we had not even touched the pallet of the goods mentioned above. I did hope it would all be worth all the work. I particularly hoped this early on the Friday morning before the event when Dearly B drove the goods and me to LuxExpo, and helped me carry everything in before going off to work at 8 a.m. We had less to carry than expected, as other members of the d stand had come to collect some for us, following the accident which, which meant we had a smaller car that I couldn’t drive. What a palaver. Anyway, I had missed the information that other folks would arrive around 10:00. It felt like a long time to be there and my altruism levels were dropping like the mercury in the thermometer outside. But within the two hours, the place was transformed. The stark gantries and boxes were decorated and draped with flags, and lights, the stands filled up with people and produce and my colleagues arrived with brightly coloured cloths and the rest of the products. It only took a couple of hours and we were off for lunch and then home.

 I had spent a few weeks amassing helpers from Church and from the British Ladies club; they all arrived bright eyed and bushy tailed. I fussed about and got sent off to do my shopping, and they all did a fantastic job. The Stand overall took over 35,000 Euros to donate to the Bazaar’s charities, and Dearly B and I took home four bags and a box of the products. I shifted some of the remainder at a table top sale at DB’s office, but still have a lot of chutney and brandy butter to find a home for, if any one local is keen to buy. The five Eccles cakes seemed to have provided snacks for DB at the office and home and I find I need some chutney for tea tonight!

 

It was exhausting and exhilarating at the same time and I felt quite weary through the week, despite my recently regained four years which I got from the Bank. This is not a service usually provided, and I am four years younger, not with surgery, but in true Continental style, through the Completion of Paperwork and the Signing of Forms.  

I had been trying to purchase seasonal gifts on the Internet and bounced against the new 3D security form which one now has to complete to validate one’s credit cards. I entered the relevant numbers of my account and my birth date. The system disagreed with my input and after half an hour of not very patiently typing in the same data repeatedly, I called the helpline. The helpline said I needed to call the credit card company who said I needed to call the bank. They all gave me the same number to call, which was the original helpline number. When I had completed the circle a second time, I asked if they could tell me what it was I was putting in that was wrong. Of course, they could not tell me exactly, but it transpired that the date I was trying to put in was wrong. I obviously did not know my own birthday…

“I shall go to my bank personally, “I said, exercising great restraint. People had all been very helpful, even if they evidently felt that the poor old soul was obviously not coping with modern technology. At my age, they would have thought, I should be using my Pensioner benefits and going out with my bus pass and taking the waters at the spa.

I went to the bank, where they looked with disbelief at my passport and the information held on the computer. How could the computer be wrong? Aha! They realised that Madame had obtained a new passport since registering with the bank. “Your husband’s details have changed your address but yours have not. Please sign this form to show that you also have moved.” I signed. 

“Do you think your previous passport might have had your birth date wrong?” said one assistant. The other assistant and I looked at her. In unison, we said “No!” 

I pointed out that I did not have my bus pass, my pension or my annual three free trips to the Thermal Spa at Mondorf, so I could not yet be 60. 

I am now four years younger, no scars, no bruising and no recovery period, but I think I regained them at the Bazaar…

 

A di.