Happy new year!

Yesterday I was walking on the cliffs, crossing from England to Scotland and back again, and now I'm back in London and it's Rosh Hashanah. First there was the problem of the quince. Yes, singular. One was about 15foot up my tree, and there was no getting it down. The second, I got down by using a ridiculous fruit picker. I felt like a loon, but it was worth it. The quince was satisfyingly heavy, and smelled faintly of orange blossom. It's poaching now, with some water, sherry, cinnamon and a bay leaf. We'll have half tonight and half tomorrow; it's the symbolism of the thing, really, eating the first fruits for the new year. I've also been running round getting figs, honey, pomegranates, carrots and a zillion other vegetables for a seven-vegetable stew (seven is the lucky number!), string beans, chives, dates—oh, and silver polish. Because my candlesticks look like they came from before the Flood and a friend recently described my housekeeping as "erratic" so obviously I have to prove him wrong! I'm nearly ready for all the wishing and symbolic destruction of enemies that goes on in the Sephardi seder. So: happy new year! I hope your years are round and sweet and full of good things.