Flurry: a small swirling mass of something, especially snow or leaves, moved by sudden gusts of wind; a sudden short period of activity or excitement; a number of things arriving or happening suddenly in a short period.
We have been bartering, my neighbour and I: her barely used spare mattress in exchange for hemming her curtains. It wasn't a bad deal, though I had forgotten what a pain net curtains can be. It was a lovely escape, actually, and as I sat at the sewing machine with the rain pouring and the long lasting leaves from the mulberry tree next door swirling around outside, I almost managed to forget that there were other jobs that needed to be done. I optimistically thought there might even be time to make a few late gifts. Wildly overambitious of course, especially when there was cake to be made for visitors, resulting in a flurry of flour and sugar instead. Then there was carol singing, social stuff, a bit of cheery jiving, shopping, deliveries. That flurry soon became more of a meltdown.
So to leaven the gloom of the heavy downpours this afternoon, we went off to find a star, and settled on the Star of the East in Limehouse. I've been curious about this old gin palace for years. Back in the 50s it would have been packed with seamen or locals who left their bored children outside with lemonade and arrowroot biscuits. Outside there's a hint of the Alhambra, plus some original gas lamps. Inside it's more like the Wild West - bare floors, a scattering of seriously dedicated drinkers, and tables too heavy to pick up and throw through the windows.