14December1996

Saturday 14 December
My dear folks,

The TV weather forecaster warned us dryly last night that we were likely to see an alien object in the Saturday sky - the sun, he added, after a small pause. The week has certainly been uniformly grey. And when I staggered sleepy-eyed into the bathroom this a.m., there - through the skylight - was the bluest of skies criss-crossed with furry white contrails, looking like a work of modern art. High above me a hasty speck was making crisp new contrails, while over the rooftops two aeroplanes were floating down behind each other on final approach to Heathrow. Not only a work of art, but a work of moving art. It was a welcome start to the day.

I hope that Cathy was having a similar start to the day as she, presumably, set out for Frankfurt to fetch Micaela from the airport. I’d rather have it blue & frosty than grey any day. (Thank you Cathy for your latest fax. Yes, let’s make it the bus after all next Friday & we’ll call you if we miss the 1230 departure for Mannheim.) London’s been cold in the wind that’s accompanied the greyness & I’ve resorted gratefully to my old Canadian mitts this past week on the commute to the BBC. (Hey, Alan Benson, did you ever get those double lined gloves for Barbara??)

I’ve been working on a daily review programme all week, an easy haul on a shift that ends either late evening or close to midnight. I took time off yest p.m. to make my biannual visit to the dermatology dept. of St Thomas’s hospital, a vast spread on the opposite bank of the Thames from the Houses of Parliament. It’s a service provided on the national health & entails a certain amount of sitting around on hard chairs in corridors. But it’s well worth it. Would cost a fortune to see the same consultant privately. For years I’ve been seeing the same guy who zaps anything out of the ordinary with a canister of liquid gas. Not painful & bloody miraculous. The only onerous part of it was the double journey on the tube. The trains & platforms were unpleasantly crowded in both directions. I breathed my usual sigh of relief that I am not a regular road or tube commuter. What an awful way to start & finish the day.

Jones has beetled off to some patisserie to buy something special for breakfast. I would nip down to the corner shop for a loaf of (thick-sliced, brown) bread. Not Jones. She’s prepared to walk a mile to get something special (if only she’d eat more of it when she had. She’s still painfully scrawny!) It’s a special morning, mind you. Her nephew, Jeremy (& Welsh wife, Suzie) are due in from Jhb shortly en route to Wales while second nephew, Chris, is due in from Guyana mid a.m. for a three day stop-over en route to Cape Town. Third nephew, Bevan, who’s working in London, is due to join us as well. Jones has it in mind for us to walk (three miles) down the canal to a fish restaurant for supper. Three miles is a mere constitutional for Jones. Her guests may feel otherwise!

I’ve little to show for my week other than work & lots of correspondence, paying bills, renewing insurance, writing to Quinta guests. Mind you, it took me two full mornings to put together additional complex spreadsheets for the auditors sorting out the affairs of my most prolific flatowner. I also changed the lock on the front door of the house as the old one has been growing increasingly arthritic & unwilling to let us in & out. Just had lots of use, explained the owner of the hardware shop who had an identical model at hand. “Costs £50,” he added. That was all right. Security is worth paying a little extra for, especially when the house is paying for it.

blessings
T