IT’S barely 4 in the evening and it’s already pitch dark outside. A howling wind is playing havoc with the garden furniture. The terracotta containers that held a ravishing selection of midnight blue delphiniums, white daisies and violet pansies in the summer, are now filled with a sorry selection of tangled weeds. The frost is so thick on the ground that the street lamps are reflected on the decking like a sheet of stars.
I’ve just turned the page on my wall calendar and pinned up the last sheet that heralds the month of December. It’s a calendar of the architectural treasures of Europe and the year has taken us through the fluted arches of the Wall Pavilion in Dresden to the filigree walls of the Grand Palace in Brussels. This month it’s the Duomo in Sienna, and the once pristine calendar is dog eared and dotted with hundreds of entries that represents the flotsam and jetsam of our lives through the year.