On New Year's Day – bright, clear, brilliant, below freezing – walking through London with Italian friend Beatrice, I was called to whisper the words "it's 2010" with a not-so-secret excitement. Though at least secret enough for me to not know what I was excited about. Perhaps there were textures of "how did I manage to get here?"
It was only when I read your blog post yesterday morning that it occurred to me that the kris armed assassins were on their way bare-foot, winding their surreptitious paths to their appointment with that old pantomime dame Karma Kali. She of the multi-coloured petticoats and stringed skulls, accompanying her wailing litany on a battered ukulele.
Uncle Wally was first through the door, spilling coal from pockets, spluttering in bronchial delight. We hadn't thought to close the door, we were too busy burning the Victorian oak dining table in an effort to keep warm. There are downsides to this when the chimneys were blocked up in 1966 in the uncontrolled ambition to be modern. But we were blessed, not only by the ministering angel Uncle Wally, but by discovering some bottles of sweet sherry, missed from earlier Bacchanalian transports. So with the brussel sprouts and a few stale almond biscotti (we guessed from Christmas 2001) we were as happy as . . . as what exactly? . . . dreamers who wake up to discover that they haven't won that four million on the lottery.
Beatrice wanted to see Rodin's The Kiss which she was convinced was hidden somewhere inside Tate Modern. So after delving into the Black Box we were off in search of The Kiss and eventually after three or four wrong directions given by Tate Modern staff we happened upon it. An unhappy kiss, I thought. She's doing her best but he's so ungiving, unwilling to give up his castle ramparts of a back, unwilling to free himself from stony indifference. Ah, what were those marks on her backside? Suddenly I knew, exactly where the assassins had sharpened their krises. Razor sharp they were heading to Bombay believing it to be 1910. How will they get through airport security? There's probably no category for them in profiling schedules.