Marmalade addicts – the Queen, Paddington and me. By Giles Wood
‘If, at some future period of the world’s history, men should acquire the art of flying, there can be no doubt that migration would become the custom, and whole nations would change their localities,’ wrote Richard Jefferies in 1883. Seville is in my DNA through the marmalade connection and its orange season. Famous for being over almost before it has begun, the season runs from the end of December through to mid-February. This year, the season coincided with our hot-water boiler failing at precisely the same time as our daughters’ planned return for a family-bonding week. Conditions in the cottage would be more intolerable than usual. As if reading my mind, my technically literate elder daughter booked a six-day break at Las Casas de la Juderia in the historic centre of that well-dressed city of flamenco dancers, mysterious gentlemen in capes, black cloaks and scarlet scarves of the finest vicuna...
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