It is the calm, if not torpor, of January in the Oxfam shop when the heady days of taking £3,000 in a week are a dim memory.

Like retailers everywhere, we in the Oxfam shop have to make the most of Christmas trading.

And, that takes quite a lot of planning and execution – and it is not like I am new to all this, I have been doing it for a number of years.

But there is one aspect which catches me out every January – what went where before?

If you are so post-Christmas you cannot bear the thought of reading about anything to do with the that ridiculously extended period of over-spending, over-eating and you are certainly over all of it, please do feel free to skip some of the following paragraphs.

From September onwards we collect donated books which are in such good a state, they could be given as a Christmas gift without anyone knowing they were from a charity shop.

(Now, that is not to say that all our customers want to shield their recipients from the source of their gift

Indeed, this year we had more customers than ever who told us their family rule was to buy everything from charity shops, and one family who arrived en masse on Christmas Eve to copy the Icelandic custom of buying each other books so they could sit and read them during the night before Christmas.)

So, we had more than 20 crates of books that were either Christmas gift books, Christmassy fiction, non fiction, children’s books, music or DVDs.

Those, along with the Oxfam new goods – baskets, rugs, chocolate, cards, decorations and so on –  take up a lot of room.

And they go – the shop ‘eats’ up all those goods in the big spend weeks – and afterwards, when they have sold (mostly) there are all sorts of gaps and empty shelves.

You would think, and you would be right to think, it should not take a genius to work out what was there before and re-instate.

But hey ho, it is never that simple.

On the Thursday after Christmas, I was in all day but unfortunately I was the only person in all day who was a crate-of-books mover.

So, I moved and moved, re-stocked, juggled, moved, re-juggled and generally did my back in.

And I have been doing that ever since, but still the shop is not quite back to normal.

It was easy to put the art section back where it had been displaced from by the need to have front-facing books.

(Front-facers are what they sound like – books on a stand showing their face not their spine, and front facers sells much more quickly than spine-facing books.

Needless to say they take up more room but they are the ones which make the shop look good.)

I know that Old and Interesting need to go back where the leftover unsold socks are, but we still have socks in place so that might have to be juggled about a bit.

Of course, being an Oxfam shop we are reliant on donations, and those can fluctuate

Before Christmas lots of people have a clear out – you might think that should be a January job and I would agree with you.

And it is not just quantity – subject matter fluctuates all the time. (Though the day we are short of biographies of famous people is the day I will eat my hat.)

So, when I decided to re-instate the shelf on how to paint or draw – usually we have lots of those books – imagine my dismay when we didn’t have any

Nor indeed could I replace them with how to knit or sew, or collect Victorian porcelain or take up calligraphy….. there weren’t any.

And of course, the table has to be kept looking good. After all the glam and razzmatazz of Christmas tables, January’s need to be calm, thoughtful and quirky without being in your face. 

And I have to say they are a bit scrabbled together because we have used up so much energy and time on the Christmas books that little brain or shop space has been given over to the aftermath

And it is pretty annoying when you have created a table display from a box or two found under a shelf and told the volunteer on the till to make sure they don’t sell anything because we have no back up, to find half of it gone 20 minutes later.

Mind you, we did a nice table of stuff I had lying about. Instead of resolutions, we went with ‘learn something new.’

I thought it was rather inspired to put out a book on cardboard modelling, another on telepathy and one on how to train your dog…..

Still, in this peace and quiet time I can look through those books which might be worth something – a 1747 small book of Sophocles in Greek, to research the tiny bookbinder’s mark to see if the otherwise boring volume is worth more than I think…..

It is the time to start planning table and window displays for the next few months, to think about finally getting rid of the socks and bringing out the old travel books and trying to value the old maps – notoriously hard.

And generally get back to the gentle running of a bookshop – until the urge or necessity to clear out bookshelves, garages, attics and parents’ homes kicks in again and dealing with a boxes and boxes of donations means all those nice pleasures get put to one side.

In the few days running up to Christmas, my best beloved and I both had our birthdays, a family wedding, an early family Christmas and, of course, there was the Oxfam shop at the busiest time of the year.

So, we decided to abandon all thoughts of quiet meals out – inevitably we would have been joined by a Christmas office party or two – and treat ourselves to a night in a nice hotel in the relative peace of January.

Helpfully, The Guardian did a feature on the best places to stay with a dog, and one was not that far way in the New Forest.

So, I booked it, and at the time the owner told me they were doing a bit of a re-furb and though it would all be done by that date, the kitchen wouldn’t be fully open.

I asked if we could get a meal, if not the fine dinning they usually went in for, and he said yes, of course.

To be fair, I had forgotten that conversation, what with Christmas, weddings, the Oxfam shop etc etc.

So, after our walk along the beach, we went to a pub and had a sandwich one the basis that you don’t want two ‘proper’ meals in a day – certainly not with chips.

When we got to the hotel, it was apparent that the re-furb wasn’t quite finished, what with carpet layers and a lot of hoovering and mopping going on  – but our room was done.

The hotel is in the middle of a commuter village so it nestles in suburbia – not quite what we had in mind, though the views at the back, as per The Guardian photo, are very nice.

• 

So, what was on offer for supper.

‘Ah yes madam,’ I was told, ‘there is a complimentary bottle of wine and a sandwich.’

Really only a sandwich option? ‘Yes.’

OK so we could have gone off and found somewhere a drive away to eat, but we decided we would opt for the wine, a conversation about work which we never usually manage at home, and a dog happy to be entertained by domestic comings and goings.

Most of the staff and carpet layers left, leaving a nice young man in sole charge and some banging and crashing in the kitchen.

After a while we asked what the sandwich options were.

I was thinking nice crusty local bread, with local ham say, or today’s crab catch or even a BLT. 

The nice young man said, ‘I’ll go and have a look what is left in the fridge’

Really? ‘Yes.’

He came back and said he had found some cheese and smoked salmon and I probed for a few more details but he looked panicked

In the end I said, ‘Would you like me to make up the sandwiches?’

He looked relieved so I told him to get out what he had in the way of bread and potential sandwich fillers, and lead me to them.

Well, I refused the Bernard Matthews slices of chicken breast….

The bread was sliced and frozen so had to be de-frosted and it certainly wasn’t anybody’s finest.

The cheese was a half packet of Cathedral cheddar and the pickle came in a lidded bucket, so not all that local or homemade.

The butter was also pretty cold so spreading it was a challenge and the smoked salmon looked like it was a new year’s leftover.

I did what I could and asked if he had any greenery and he came back with a bag of spinach leaves and another bucketful of (actually rather nice) green olives.

I tried to make it look like a nice platter and he was very impressed. ‘So much better than I would have been able to do,’ he said – and I think he was probably right.

• 

(We thought nostalgically of the very, very good BLT a hotel in a mid-priced chain had managed to rustle up when we unexpectedly arrived at a Reading hotel late one evening. But that is another story and one I think I might have already told you.)

To be fair, we did get a cooked breakfast the next day but at least one of us, hoping for a bacon sandwich, was just a bit disappointed.

• 

I have to say that my TripAdvisor review for the Manor at Sway won’t be that great.

Friends of ours invited us to a celebration of the publication of Tristram Shandy – yes indeed not the usual party invitation.

At the time of the invitation, the diary looked blank as far as the eye could see but as seems to always happen, the it filled up and time to think about this event was at a premium.

(Mind you that was nothing  compared to what the the lovely people who were organising it had to do and with just a few other commitments…)

Anyway, my best beloved was asked if he would read a little bit of am-dram stuff that that been written and would he be Tristram Shandy’s father.

Of course he would, darling, he would put it all out there…

Late in the day, I, who am no-am dram type, was asked to play his wife at the start of the event with an off stage ad lib sex scene – channeling my inner When Harry Met Sally – really? 

I said yes, but refused to rehearse.

Meanwhile I had heard from A who was busy organising Georgian food for more than 50 whilst S was revising his plans for the script.

I said I would cook something and found a recipe for a Georgian pie on the ever-useful Google. 

It came from The Art of Cookery Made Plain And Easy by Hannah Glasse  published in 1747 when they didn’t bother with quantities, or much in the way of timings, or temperatures – certainly not for 50 people.

Here it is:

To make an Onion Pye.

Wash, and pare some Potatoes, and cut them in Slices, peel some Onions, cut them in Slices, pare some Apples and slice them, make a good Crust, cover your Dish, lay a Quarter of a Pound of Butter all over, take a Quarter of an Ounce of Mace beat fine, a Nutmeg grated, a Tea Spoonful of beaten Pepper, three Tea spoonfuls of Salt, mix all together, strew some over the Butter, lay a Layer of Potatoes, a Layer of Onion, a Layer of Apple, and a Layer of Eggs, and so on, till you have filled your Pye, strewing a little of the Seasoning between each Layer, and a Quarter of a Pound of Butter in Bits, and six Spoonfuls of Water. Close your Pye, and bake it an Hour and a Half: A Pound of Potatoes, a Pound of Onion, and a Pound of Apples, and twelve Eggs will do.

That was what I started with and at the end of this, should you get that far, there is my version..

Suffice it to say, I made a pie.

And we were going to Frome which is a lovely town full of people for whom a vegetarian option would be a necessity so the pie was a good option.

Meanwhile, we realised that as we were to play parts, we needed costumes.

The BB went onto his local am-dram costume mistress to hunt out something and I asked him to get me a dress.

I would have gone with him to try things on but I was busy with getting the Oxfam shop ready for Christmas, going up to London, upholstery and other stuff that takes up the time of a Sussex housewife.

So, though I am touched by his mental image of me, the dress didn’t quite fit.

Given that it was an am-dram costume it had poppers rather than any more substantial fastenings – and they were in the front, from the cleavage down.

I ask you to use your imagination to realise what happened if I stretched my arms out…

Now the Georgian were no prudes, but if not to shock the good people of Frome I would have had to spend an afternoon holding my breath and keeping my arms firmly by my sides to get away with it.

Instead, I raced to Chichester to buy an old lady’s nightie from M&S and a haberdashers to get some ribbon to make an outfit which made me look like a slightly bawdy version of Jane Austen’s mother.

I would have gone for the full wig and flounced skirts etc but have you any idea how hard it is to find suitable costume hire in Deepest Sussex with 24 hours notice?

(I was put to shame by the marvellous costumes on who at the event but at least I made a good pie.)

So, to the event itself.

It was marvellous.

Apparently it was a Georgian convention for the women to eat at one end of the table and men at the other – how nice was that!

Three courses and each interspersed with a series of vignettes from the book acted out by ‘members of the party’ and at the end of each one, there was an expert (found among their friends) to tell us some background stuff which ranged from the use of forceps in the time, to the only portrait of Lawrence Stern to psychological aspects of what the book says about people, and a very quirky tracing of a copy of the book through a very quirky family story…..

Yes indeed, when did you ever go to such a lunch?

The room was old, had a log fire burning, candles all over the place, pineapples as decorations, wonderful food and good company.

The hostess was (amazingly) fielding calls about a plumbing disaster, the dog went walkabout and was brought back by people down the street, the host called in all his actors and a seriously impressive singer and choir, wine flowed, young people brought us sweetmeats and syllabub – yes of course, all made or done by their friends.

I curtsey in a very Georgian way to A and S for one of the most memorable ways I have spent a day.

( On the way back to our hotel, my BB was analysing the successes and failures of his performance but hey ho….)

So, to the pie.

Now this is a recipe I intend to replicate for the lunch I am doing for 35 in the next couple of weeks and I realise that I am channelling my inner Hannah Glasse.

This is the 21st century version of a vague recipe….

Before you start, be prepared for a lot of butter and eggs. You have been suitably warned.

Get two of those large foil turkey roasting ‘tins’ you can get at this time of year.

You need two because the pie will be too heavy for one.

Check they fit your oven.

Peel lots of potatoes and slice them with the help of a food processor and put them in the doubled turkey roasters with quite a lot of butter, into a medium oven so they cook gently.

Meanwhile, slice a lot of onions in a food processor or buy ready diced onions and again, with butter sweat them for some time.

Once the onions and potatoes are pretty much cooked, add the onions in a layer above the potatoes, having put some salt, pepper and allspice ( and if you feeling particularly Georgian, a bit extra of grated nutmeg between the layers.)

Meanwhile slice the apples – please don’t bother to peel them and use all the leftover glut of apples your friends and neighbours give you – so a mix of cooking and eating.

Just cut out the bad bits and leave the cores for the compost.

Layer above the onions and again a sprinkling of allspice and quite a bit of butter.

Beat gently a lot of eggs – I used 18 – and put over the layers so that they cover (more or less) the other ingedients.

Cover with shortcrust pastry. Of course you can buy it but I am home-made afficiando.

Decorate the pie with left over scraps.

Bake at about 170 until golden.

Cool overnight.

Then cover with tinfoil, put in the boot of the car and make sure your BB does not throw his boots or bag on top of it.