1April1995

London: 1st April 1995
My dear folks,

I thought I had to write to you today as it's the first day of summer and this makes such a change in our lives as cannot be allowed to pass unremarked. For the first time this year, we opened the patio door and pinned it back against the wall and breathed in the garden airs that wafted up from the quilt of backyards below. It was warm enough to step outside without the comfort of a jersey. The patio itself looks badly in need of love and attention. Many of the hardier residents have survived winter's rigours but they are brown & straggly, gritty-eyed from their long hibernation. Jones has peered through the door several times in recent days, sighed loudly, & told herself that at the first opportunity she must get to work in it. No doubt she will - & will have it looking trim before her return to the Quinta in three weeks.

We breakfasted late - brunched - after I'd spent an hour in the flat below erecting two shelves for one of the occupants. The tenant does not hesitate to ask for such assistance and I don't mind giving it from time to time. Brunch was brown rolls & coffee, plus egg fried bread. Delicious! On the nutbag outside, three sparrows fussed & pecked & tried to shoulder each other off the best perch. Later, a blue tit arrived for lunch. They are so delicate & gorgeous (by London standards) that we freeze & watch in appreciative fascination. I don't mean to sound over the top. It's just that the tits are the very antithesis of our skybox inner-city existence, a hint of nature's treasure chest.

I as write, the crews of the Oxford and Cambridge boats are carrying their sculls down to the Thames for their annual clash. The ubiquitous camera focuses on their faces as their weight & history of each oarsman is traced. No doubt you will know the result long before my letter arrives. Jones spent a year at Cambridge & knows who she supports. I generally support the underdog which this year again is Oxford.

Yesterday, I cycled 30 minutes over to Islington to give a friend an introduction to the Windows programme. Her other half is a long-standing computer user but I thought that domestic harmony - as so often in these matters - might be better served by an outsider. Three hours passed quickly & easily (for me at least). But I recalled too clearly my own agonised initiation & the first lessons I received from Rolf, just in time to prevent me doing irreparable damage to my laptop. My bike has a distinct, intermittent wobble in the back wheel, like a runner whose gammy knee plays up unpredictably. I've been trying unsuccessfully to trace & cure the problem. Anyhow, I took it slowly in both directions, as I've been doing to work each day, & managed well enough (barring the theft of both my cycle lamps while bike was locked to the fence).

I went around to the bike shop this morning to see if they could trace the cause. We got to talking about the wobble & other attention the bike would soon need, & the cost of repairs - & about a super new bike that the shop owner would be able to offer me at an excellent price (& there'd be a good trade-in on the old one). Enough said.

19:07: You'll never believe it. Mid-afternoon Jones came back from a shopping expedition to say there'd been another accident on the corner. Two cars and a cyclist seemed to be involved. There were lots of flashing blue lights, and ambulance & two fire-appliances in attendance when I peered out. Moments later, there was a thunderous whirring & the helicopter ambulance came windmilling overhead & edged its way down on to the school playground. Pause for a minute....& three orange-clad paramedics (evidently from the chopper) cane panting down the street. Crowds clustered around.

I felt for the unfortunate, whoever he was but not so much as to ignore the drama. Every two minutes, a wailing siren would herald the next police car to arrive on the scene. Three of them came in quick succession to join the two already there. Next was a police motor-cyclist who also arrived, siren blaring, and promptly parked his bike so as to block the traffic (which, until then, had been squeezing past). Jones & I teetered on the edge of hysterical laughter. It was like watching telly, a very bad tragi-comedy. Later when I went to fetch my bike, I saw a Jaguar parked on the verge, its windscreen with an ominous dent. Policemen were still taking statements. Such is life.

Late afternoon, a computer technician (friend of a friend) arrived to see if he could sort out some of the memory problems. He gasped when he saw what poor Mr Viglen was expected to cope with by way of applications. The manufacturers seem to put everything together to a standard formula & expect the user to configure his computer personally to fit all the bits & pieces. That's fine for ye olde experte. But truly dangerous for ye newcomere to ye scene! I watched avidly. There was certainly a great deal more memory space available when he finished & the various tests he put the computer through indicated that all was in order. We hold thumbs.

I had earlier discovered one of the reasons for the intermittent wobblies Mr Viglen has been throwing. I kicked myself when I worked it out. I had transferred a whole lot of files on to Mr Viglen from Master Compaq, including some in a font (typeface) that was not programmed into Mr Viglen. He was able to call these files up on screen but not to print them. And every time I tried to print them, he went absolutely bonkers. No wonder! I won't tell you about the two hours I spent trying to sort out the BBC's latest Auntie communications package - except that I eventually did - the sheer joy of it!

Jones had meanwhile spent the afternoon fixing up the patio garden and I joined her for a sunset cocktail. Mavis was snoozing away on the neighbouring patio, snuggled down behind a windbreak on the warm black roof, his radar ears signalling that he was still taking in all the signals that mattered. I whispered sweet nothings across the patio to him. But he ignored them. He knows when humans are just full of nonsense.

Earlier in the week, would you believe it, I took a booking at the Beeb for a couple to stay at the Quinta for a fortnight in July at the same moment as Jones took another booking for another couple to occupy the same unit for exactly the same period. Horrors! The place is full. We are still trying to sort it out. What can you do?

There. You'll have had more than a flavour of our lives and sufficient unto the day. Love you all lots. Blessings ever. Thank you for your many letters and faxes