Outside it's raining. Inside there's a fire in the fireplace, and the cat is drowsing on her very own hearthrug. I'm listening to a favorite album -
- so long a favorite that I bought it first on LP, then tape, then CD. Now I can pull it out of the air.
Earlier tonight we had a light dinner at Gainsbourg, in Greenwood - dark, spacious, a gas fire on one wall, old trunks used as tables in front of comfortable couches, good food, interesting cocktails, absinthe if you dare. Since it is named for the Serge Gainsbourg, there's a cocktail called a Jane Birkin, as well as a Brigitte Bardot. Not forgetting the old reliables - Kir Royale (my favorite) and French 75.
It's going to be the dinner-and-a-movie (or two or three) Christmas. After Gainsbourg, we went back to I & Z's house, and watched "Holiday Inn," a movie I'd never seen. Although it's famous for introducing "White Christmas" to the world, it should be equally famous for Fred Astaire's July 4 dance among exploding fireworks.
Tomorrow Ian is cooking dinner - and he has a lineup of film noir classics we MUST see. Since the rain is forecast to go on for at least the weekend, this all sounds perfectly reasonable.
Before I go to sleep, I'll listen one more time to Alan Maitland reading "The Shepherd," courtesy of the CBC program, "As It Happens." If you haven't heard the program, it's worth checking out (NPR carries it.) "The Shepherd," which runs every Christmas Eve, is a lovely ghost story.
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