26June1005

London: 26th June 1995
My dear folks,

I am wearing one of my new shirts & very smart it is too. It will give me a great deal of pleasure in the months & (God willing) years ahead, along with its still virgin companions. Joan Baez croons as I write. The new speaker case (a small box which sits under the monitor screen) has one of its three speakers facing down so that the sound reflects up from the desk. It seems to come from all around one, an audio sensurround sensation. Dad would have approved. I never knew anyone who tried so long & so hard to achieve perfect sound. You can certainly get better than I've got but only for a lot more money & I'm satisfied (for the moment at least).

But I'm rabbiting on! I had a fax from Chris (Jones in Guyana) overnight. His junior QS was killed in an accident on the site yesterday & Chris is in shock. (Barbara, his fax no. is 00 59 225 3362; he'd appreciate a note, I'm sure.) I send him the family letters for which he is so earnestly grateful that it's embarrassing. He clearly feels the strain of isolation in an exacting environment. A recent spell of illness has meant that he is not allowed to take alcohol either & he is coping with the added strain of living a beerless life - really tough in that heat.

Cathy, thank you for your fax this morning. My lordy but I can see why you won all the essay prizes at school. I guess you got the essay gene. My sympathies to your elder daughter as puberty impinges on her life. I recall (some years ago now) Dr Merlin of speaking of his daughter finding herself with "two bee-stings" & not knowing what to do with them. It's harder for girls, I think. Such big changes! And as for the old acne, what a bugger. I developed a large pimple - we used to call them chorbs - on my forehead days before the school dance (to which I was taking my cousin, Carohn) & nearly perished in my agonised attempts to blot it out by means fair or foul.

And my dear Jones, thank you for your faxes too. I have twice tried to call you in the evenings in Seventh Heaven, without success, merely for a word. I got home late again last night, too late to sit down & start composing a fax given the habits of our guests in Casa 3. (I was doing a story for the bulletin editor who was working with an inexperienced team & found it hard going). It was the loveliest of evenings, absolutely perfect; neither hot nor cold, just a breath of wind. I went out on to the patio to read Mum's fax over a can of beer. (How did we ever manage pre-fax?) The creepers were put out new shoots & the patio flowers were suddenly exploding into new growth. About time too! Mid-summer's come & gone & we're only now seeing the sun.

Jones, I shall sit down this evening & get the essence of the jam recipe on a fax to you. By all means, let me know what items might be useful for the braai. I shall reserve my position as I intend to travel as light as poss. Pause there to see Maureen off. She's catching a train down to Bill & Lynne before returning to France & later RSA. We've got along well enough, I'm pleased to say. I can't pretend to share any of her interests (other than the rugby - how frustrating Cath to have the cassette run out at the crucial moment!) but that was hardly an issue. She took great pleasure in an article in The Independent rubbishing The Cow, the restaurant we visited & about which she subsequently had severe doubts. Certainly, the article - clever, witty & probably accurate - got in some telling blows. Poor Cow!