Christmas Eve. We drive that evening to Stefan and Ewa with a few presents and chocolates. It was the first opportunity for Albina to try one of her new wigs. But she bottled out. If she is not prepared to face the novelty and the "risk" of wearing a wig in public, when it is a matter of two sympathetic friends, when will she? The evening was pleasant as Stefan and Ewa paid homage to the usual Polish Christmas traditions, with starting at the sight of the first star, laying some straw on the table, offering the Oplatek wafer ceremony, and then serving the herring, the wild mushroom soup, pierogi and vegetables and then cheesecake and apple crumble, interspersed with several neat vodka shots and wine, that you would expect in a Polish household. We chatted in the sitting room with Ewa digging deeper into finding out what Albina first found attractive about me, but as this was a boring subject both Stefan and I dozed off. Albina interrupted me occasionally when my snoring got too much. We left them well past midnight and Albina turned the return journey by car into a nightmare by constantly criticizing my driving and threatening not to go to Sandro with me next day. Finally, she announced that she would only travel with me to Cambridge if she drove the car and not me. That was not a problem in itself, but I knew that because of the stiff shoulder joints she could not lift her arms sufficiently to command a steering wheel over such a long distance.
Christmas Day. I woke up at 9am, which was quite late, considering we had said to Sandro that we would be in Cambridge by 11. The heavy food and considerable vodka intake from the previous evening was still bearing its toll, as we prepared to leave. Her wig? Albina shook her head. I shrugged my shoulders resignedly. At this rate she would be unlikely to wear one at any time before our World Voyage, and possibly even then. That would be £1000 wasted. We got ourselves ready. I passed the car keys to Albina in the lift going down to the garage. Unexpectedly she said I should drive again. If her behaviour as a car passenger would continue to be unbearable on the journey, then we could stop the car and change places. Otherwise, we should continue with me at the wheel.
We took the A1 route again and then the quiet backwater A428 route into the north of the city of Cambridge. It went very smoothly with a one and a half hour run. Despite the train strikes, the roads were still quite clear of traffic. We got there in good time and with Albina on her best behaviour. If she thought I was drifting too far to the right in my lane or travelling more than 50 miles per hour she would point it out politely, and we would get by without a storm brewing between us. Consequently, we arrived rested and content.
Sandro and Liisa explained their new situation while breaking off occasionally to prepare dinner for us. For the new job in Finland he had received an offer of 50,000 euros a year, which was more than I had ever earned, even when I was a trader at a City trading company. Liisa's father, an engineer, had seen the post of an English speaking programmer, advertised in Turku, the Finnish port town, where he lives. Sandro applied and was made the offer before he even visited Finland to seal the deal. Of course, it helped that he had a Polish passport, which made him an EU citizen having the right to find work in any other EU country. Curiously, as soon as he applied, other companies in the UK got wind of his application and also sent him offers. His own company was taken aback by his decision to go, but Sandro was keen to take up the Finnish offer, partly because it would please Liisa and her family, and partly because his prospects there would be better as a potential house buyer. Apparently a Finnish 5 room property would be much cheaper than in the UK. (So why 5 rooms?)
Sandro prepared the food as he talked to us, initially donning goggles over his eyes to strip and cut the onions into miniscule pieces, while Liisa would occasionally pop into the kitchen, taking out utensils and plates and helping to fan the room, fruitlessly waving a cook book at the surrounding steam. He had bought an exceptionally large chicken which he roasted beautifully, along with the requisite roast potatoes, leek, carrot, parsnip and sprouts and covered it with his home made gravy. Wherever Sandro had learned to cook, it was not from us, but he had acquired the art sufficiently well to have worked professionally as a cook, before taking up lab jobs in some south London schools, and then concentrating on his second MSc course at UCL on quantum technology. For all the difficulties of the past, had had done well, as he was constantly employed or studying and he had a steady girlfriend for the past 11 years. We aged Polish parents had at least an excuse to boast to our friends about what he was up to, even though we mostly did not understand what it was. Also he was ready to help with our IT whenever we required it. After all, what else do you have children for? In the old days you had children so that they would look after you in your old age. I don't imagine Sandro as being the "looking after" type, but at least he will be able to afford the help that he would need to look after us.
Boxing Day. I got up early and went for a drive to the nearest village of Histon. Stopped at the village square in front of a pretty thatched cottage facing the local Baptist church. I sipped a coffee as I sat in the car and then went for a brisk walk inhaling the crisp country air. Went back just as the local household was rising and Sandro had started to prepare a hearty breakfast of smoked salmon with scrambled egg and rice porridge with cinnamon. Albina and I left again for London with our little Suzuki Swift filled with some ten plants for Albina's balcony and for their friends. It included an aloe cactus for their old friend Ramesh, and a large bay tree. I lugged them all upstairs into our flat, so we now have plants drooping their branches over the back of our fridge, filling every spare shelf space in our sitting room and spare bedroom, while others were left on the balcony for the following day.
Next day our Ukrainian cleaning lady replanted them to replace the faded and dead plants that had fallen foul of the December frosts. Albina glories in buying or borrowing more plants for her balcony, but she never ever spends any time, even in the summer, resting on the balcony to enjoy them. After all, there's no TV set on the balcony.
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