I mentioned last year our Christmas Eve candle tradition. This year my mum decided that she would like a red candle. So off we went to the Candle Factory next to the Greek Orthodox church of St John the Theologian in Mare Street to see if we could find one. The factory is simply a large shed in a yard at the side of the church. Inside there are candles of all sorts, sizes and colours for sale, loaded up hugger mugger. In the room at the back, the candle maker dips rows of wicks in a bath of beeswax and its honeyscent wafts through. At the side of the beeswax bath his jug stands covered in melted wax like some surreal sculpture. 
The tree was brought home yesterday from the market and decorated today. I was thinking about not buying one this year. Just not really in the swing of things, a bit lacklustre. But once the tree is in place and the boxes come up from the cellar, my notions of restrained decoration disappear. I begin with a bit of pearliness, then some glittering glass, think about stopping there - briefly - then add a touch of deep red, find some silver to fill the gaps, then a few more pearly baubles. By the time I get to the bottom of the boxes there is not much left. Just the five "gold" rings.
On the Sunday before Christmas or thereabouts people from the neighbourhood collect in the local square and sing carols. We have a cup of mulled wine and a mince pie, catch up with people we have not seen for a while. This year it was freezing cold, but there were crowds of people and the singing was better than ever. 
There is no middle way with pickles, so you may want to skip this page which I am dedicating to my brother. I've never pickled onions before but when I saw them for sale at 3lb a £1 at Globe Town Market I was tempted. Then I got talking to Jenny the Cook in the queue and she gave me a recipe which involved brining and sweetening and storing. I was hooked. 
And look. The first time it has flowered at Christmastime. this without any fussing with darkened rooms, other than the normal crepuscular light in my kitchen that is.
I know that Whitechapel Haymarket is probably an odd thing to find in an advent calendar, so let me explain. I got it into my head that I should include some shepherds and I remembered that there used to be a tiled picture in the lobby of Whitechapel Library with some besmocked country lads. I associated those smocks with the hiring fairs that shepherds would attend and assumed that they were shepherds - I think I had in mind the scene in Far From The Madding Crowd where Gabriel Oak goes to a hiring fair. 
From Mrs B's archives, a first visit to Santa at Wickhams of Whitechapel, a small department store with grand aspirations. My mum tells me the matching coat and bonnet were dark turquoise - amazing how she can remember every detail. I love those zip up suede boots, such sensible footwear for such sturdy legs. 
When we walked through the cemetery this afternoon, we came across several logs scattered around the place. A couple of smaller chumps of wood just about fitted in the string bag I happened to have with me. Just right for keeping out the cold this weekend.
I stuck this shooting star on the mirror above the fireplace the first year we moved into this house twenty seven years ago. It seemed a shame to take it off when Christmas was over.
I have been waiting all week to pour this, tantalised by Felix's description of the sound of pouring beer in her sonic advent calendar. I can confirm, as evidenced this evening, that it is a very good description. If your preference is for something cooler, then listen to the sound of this icy highland stream in Kate's captivating passage through December. I am so enjoying both of these calendars, and look forward to my daily visits with the anticipation of a child. Except I'm allowed beer, of course.
I didn't expect to come across angel wings on the Regent's Canal towpath this week. Or the gargoyle come to that. But then I didn't expect to be given a bunch of hollyhock flowers in December. Or hear blackbirds singing just before midnight.
I cycled to Southwark today, taking a route I used to follow when I worked there a while back. It took me over Tower Bridge, down Tooley Street then round the back streets by Southwark Cathedral, past Borough Market and through Park Street. And that's where I caught the scent of cheese from Neal's Yard Dairy. 
I took a walk in the park today and there were more swans on the lake than I have ever seen before, including lots of cygnets losing the last of their brown plumage. Certainly more than seven swans a swimming, but that's how many I captured here.
I came across this empty bottle of Prosecco today on the wall of St Leonard's churchyard in Shoreditch. I like the wall, and the moss and cut buddleia.
I spotted these as I was leaving the old Shoreditch Town Hall yesterday and took one. About 25 yards down the road, I turned round and went back for more. It is not a good move to follow up three roof-of-the-mouth scorching sherbet lemons with chilli dressing on your supper.
Getting a new hat was an important part of getting ready for Christmas when I was a child. Hats knitted around an alice band for everyday, and more elegant affairs for church and special occasions. There's a picture somewhere of a me in a lovely little angora boater on a winter trip to the circus, sitting on a plaster zebra. And I still love a hat. So today when I came across Janie Lawson at the East London Design Show I indulged myself and bought a flighty little kit and sat down for an hour with Janie making some fancy headgear to wear while I made the Christmas dinner. She was patient and charming and we sat and chatted about how she had become a milliner while she showed me how to make a milliner's knot and sew beads onto sinemay. I was spoilt by her attention. And very pleased with my pretty headwear. Janie will be at ELDS for the next two days if you would like to go along and meet her and make or buy something yourself.
I've mentioned before that we are awash with Bishops where I live - well, two actually. One of them moved yesterday and this was the removals company he chose. It made me laugh.
Every Advent calendar needs a bell so here is my bicycle bell. It was a Christmas present that was put to one side as surplus and found its way onto my new bike this year so it's is still bright and shiny. It is a most satisfying bell, with a lovely sound and it's been echoing round the borough over the last couple of months when I've been out on jaunts. With practice and a light touch, it will oblige with a gentle, polite tinkle, just enough to warn walkers on the Regent's Canal towpath that you are coming up behind them without demanding right of way. It can ring more imperiously when necessary to warn inattentive pedestrians not to step out onto the road. I like it, I like it.
I thought I might have a go again at an Advent Calendar again this year. I envisaged something with more "doing" in it, to avoid going over the same ground again, though that seems somewhat inevitable given the season. So really I should be proudly displaying the amaryllis that I had the foresight to plant a while back. No such luck, I'm afraid. These were bought at the weekend at Columbia Road. The first amaryllis arriving is one of those touchstones events that indicate a shift in the temporal season, a gearing up for Christmas. I do love the richness of the colour, almost velvety red. I suspect that these are extravagant in more ways than one though, probably imported from the Netherlands, and possibly grown in heated glasshouses. 
