5March1996

My dear folks

Cathy gets the prize for the best letter of the week. But I think she went over the top a bit in her determination to outshine the rest of us. She could easily have caught the next train & merely written about the one that went off the rails without risking her neck. Moreover, she has damaged my confidence in the German railway system which I have previously assumed to run both on time & on the rails. Shithouses, sister! What do you think you’re up to?????? Has there been any indication of what caused the accident? Scary stuff! Your knees must be wobbling yet!

My own news is feeble by comparison. I rose at 7.30 to be back at “my” flat by 8.00 for the expected arrival of the man to fit the cupboards. I spent the next hour carrying the elements of the old cupboards downstairs & junking the more useless bits. The installer, Dave, pitched up at 9.00, having parked in a resident’s parking bay nearby. I warned him to go straight back & retrieve his van before Westminster Council did it for him. People from the outback don’t realise that in this part of the world, unless your vehicle is approved, it’s clamped or carted off within minutes of being parked.

He spent 30 minutes looking for somewhere to park the van on the streets legally but returned baffled. Such a place did not exist in Westminster. So I took him up to the local council offices where he hoped to get a permit to park for 2 days. But it emerged there that while such permits are available, they require 5 days’ notice & cost some £50, including an administration fee. Next we headed to a parking garage half a mile away we he found parking at a mere £10 a day. He shook his head in mystification as I drove him back to the flat. Normally, he said, he just parked his car in the drive & got on with the job. Here, it had taken an hour just to find parking. He was grateful that he didn’t live in central London & fervently hoped he would not have to work here again.

I had to leave the Rocket some distance from the flat as well as the Council had brought in the tree pruners for the annual hack-back. It’s highly organised. A gang arrives with 2 tree climbers & half a dozen clearers up. The climbers use mountaineering gear to shin up the trees lining the avenue & secure themselves from the highest boughs. They then dance around at 2nd floor window level & hack off all the lesser branches with a chain saw attached to their belts. These topple down where they are collected & immediately thrust into a howling machine which reduces them to mulch. The noise is the most painful part of the operation. It disturbed even old Mavis who was trying to rest under his light after an exhausting night on the tiles. He met me at the door this morning with a miauw piteous enough to have melted a heart of ice, needing immediate food & affection to help him recover from the ordeal. It did not deter him from trying to get out again tonight, a plan I thwarted at the door.

After lunch, I nipped around to check prices at a carpet dealer in Harrow Road, our local “slice of life” area. The dealer looked like a retired boxer. His prices were attractive but he wanted lots of money - in cash - up front, & the 2 bruisers assisting him gave me the distinct impression that laying carpets was not their main business. So I declined his services & took myself off to a bigger dealer who accepts cheques & where I had to pay a great deal more for what I hope is a superior product & service.

The rest of the day has gone in responses to Quinta clients (Eddie Vanko is coming down 14 - 21 (not 22) April, Jones) & a final faint-hearted attempt to clear my desk. Supper is in the oven. Many thanks Mother & Jones for your super duper faxes - and Cathy for your news. So nice to hear from you instead of about you. xxxxxxxxx T