PORTOBELLO DREAMING

Yesterday was the first that felt like winter had truly arrived, cold slightly misty in the morning and with Christmas edging toward you from every direction. I have always enjoyed the Christmas period which might seem paradoxical or even hypocritical for a non-believer such as myself, but on the contrary it is the Christians who have hijacked a wonderful winter festival, as they do making 'captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.’* It has always seemed to me eminently sensible in the midst of winter to have a celebration of light and colour and fire to keep the surrounding bleakness at bay.
The shelves within the local stores are already stocked with Christmas wrapping paper, tinsel, lights and the range of foodstuffs associated with the Christmas holiday. Soon the Christmas lights will go on and the stores will exude Christmas music, which I for one must admit I find somewhat wearing.


Walking down Portobello at any time of year you are soon swimming in a river of tourists, a heterogeneous babble of languages bubbling along the surface. Soon this sense of being on vacation rubs of on you and you begin to see Portobello through the eyes of the sightseer, seen this way Portobello can feel cosy, even intimate, with the word Dickensian hovering in the background.

Of course Dickens famously invented our modern idea of Christmas and I wonder how many tourists will arrive over the coming months with images of Scrooge and Bob Crachett in their head. Who knows they may well find the London they seek, it certainly exists in the little nooks and passageways around Chancery Lane and the City Corporation.


Portobello however is as much smell as sight and sound and the mixture of food stands serving ever more exotic fare have proliferated over the last few years and before long you can find yourself salivating.
So I buy my bloomer loaf and fresh cheese and leave the tourists to their cameras and curiosity.





*2 Corinthians 10:5





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