13December1995

London: 13th December 1995
My dear folks,

I am happily seated in front of my computer writing this letter to you. In front of me is the monitor which rests on a low pedestal enclosing the computer speakers. To the right is the computer tower and beyond that the printer; to the left the fax machine. They are also the same cream colour, except the printer (if you will allow that small inconsistency). Happily, Canon’s latest baby printer comes in exactly the right colour and I may be tempted at some stage to colour co-ordinate my equipment. I was admiring just this model at a friend’s house recently, cute, highly efficient & half the size of the one I took to South Africa on my recent visit. I fear my acquisitive habits, curbed in most other directions, are trying to burst out in this one. If only they were matched by my means.

I am also reading a book (not as I write) about the way the brain works, each of millions of neurones connected to thousands of other neurones, and the whole lot firing away dozens of times a second in electro-chemical communication exercise that dwarfs the imagination. Among other things, the book explains how the brain differs from computers, firing millions of messages in parallel while computers fire them singly (or serially) mainly. The aim of the book is to describe how the whole lot comes together to make us conscious. I haven’t got to that bit yet. I only get through half a dozen pages a day. But if you want to know anything about axons and dendrites in the meanwhile I’m in a position to assist you.

I am also (one ought not to begin too many paragraphs with “I am......”) enjoying a rare glass of rum and coke. Chris Jones brought the rum, a vintage bottle, quite excellent, from the Caribbean as a tribute to his London hosts. I supplied the coke myself. Very good it is too. We ran Chris out to a handy underground station a little earlier this afternoon. He’s on the plane to Cape Town tonight.

Jones has taken herself off for a walk. She is a great walker, as you know, and feels her days are incomplete unless she’s got at least a good hour under her belt. Mavis is hinting strongly that it’s time for supper, a hint I’m ignoring for the moment. He leapt up into my lap a little earlier but I explained that much as I loved him, he inhibited my typing and left his hairs all over my ergonomic keyboard, which I didn’t appreciate.

I’ve got three whole days off. Joy! Oh Joy! It’s been a tough three nights. I’ve been doing the news supremo thing again, writing and rewriting stories and summaries and headlines until my brain numbed over, my fingers froze and my wrists ached. The three hour transmission absolutely flew. Trying to stay ahead of the story that’s being transmitted feels like racing a Boeing. Really, a small win on the lottery would be very timeous!

Thank you Cathy for your fax, much enjoyed as always. I never read your effortless prose without remembering all those prizes you won at school and your numerous elevations. If becoming a German citizen has required a little more effort, it’s well worth while. We shall address future letters to Frau Gohdes. Mind you, your countrymen’s thoroughness really is a little over the top. I hope our brother in Witbank has managed to convince the German immigration authorities that he wants a visa only to visit their country, ride their horses, drink their whisky (surely the Germans don’t make whisky!) and spend his money there, not to do a Bosnia and throw himself on the mercy of the social services.

Both the Beeb and ITV report of the Beeb’s latest loss of sports coverage (this time, the Grand Prix series) to the commercial channels here. It hurts me. The Beeb has just lost the Football Association Cup Final as well, after 60 years. It can’t compete with the boys wielding the big bucks. It’s a little sad, I think. We had a report from our correspondent in Canada yesterday about the withdrawal of government funding there for the international service of Radio Canada. The future, it was declared, lay with TV and radio services directed via the Internet. Here, the Foreign Office has also reneged on its deal with BBC World Service Radio and cutbacks are the order of the day. It’s a rough old world. For better or for worse, I now work for the commercial arm of the BBC, although it’s a hard-pressed arm. But that’s enough about it for one day.