3September1995

London: 3rd September 1995
My dear folks,

It's Sunday evening, a lovely sunny one but the last such for a few days if we are to believe the weather forecast. Rain is on the horizon, quite a lot of it apparently. It's badly needed. The land is parched after the longest drought for 200 years (give or take the odd century, depending on who you listen to). From Portugal, Jones speaks of ominous signs that the borehole is also beginning to squeak. Like the boere in the Free State, we look at the skies and hope "die Here" is listening. Unlike that eccentric Afrikaner who used to live in Randburg & blame droughts on advent of the miniskirt, I cannot make a connection between the weather & God's pleasure. But generations of cautious sceptics have believed that it can do no harm to assuage the deities & I am a cautious man.

Summer has gone its way. There was a distinct chill in the air when I emerged from the BBC newsroom at 0800 this morning & pulled on my cycling gloves for the ride home. I had to ride hard for a few minutes to work up a protective layer of radiant heat. If one has to choose one morning to cycle home, it has to be Sunday, especially such a balmy morning as I had. For once, London lay glittering under a crystal blue sky. The motorist seemed like an endangered species. It was pretty close to bliss. Tomorrow, it will be back to swerve & cough.

I thought I was working 3 nights in a row. It turned out to be 4. Tonight is the last. They have been tougher going than I expected. I've been finding it hard to get in the 8 hours sleep I require for a full battery recharge when my circadian rhythm is reversed. I did manage it today however & feel on top of the world. I've let Mavis out for a wander, had a coffee & toast evening breakfast, replied to people looking for 10 days at the Quinta in November & ascertained that I failed to win the lottery yet again.

Bosnia, Mururoa & the Beijing Women's Conference have been constant themes these past few weeks. Mururoa, especially, has raised strong feelings in certain quarters. We have a good supply of Antipodeans in our midst (as well as several South Africans). We were taking stock of our news-team a few nights ago. It comprised an Irishman, a South African, a New Zealander, an Australian & an American, as well as a solitary Brit - a team responsible for the BBC's international output. "The revenge of the colonies", as one person put it. The New Zealander & the Aussie were spitting over the resumption of French nuclear testing. They're boycotting French products. When a bottle of French wine was opened in the newsroom, the Aussie girl declined it. I proposed a propitious compromise. One could stick to one's principles by refusing to purchase the product while observing social niceties by taking a glass. The Aussie wasn't convinced.

I must go and water the plants & think about work. I shall try to write something more sensible next time. I'm off Monday & Tuesday before going on to a totally different team to help produce a three-hour breakfast current affairs programme. We'll see what we'll see.