6August1995

London: 6th August 1995
My dear folks,

I have had a very pleasant day, not exciting or memorable, just satisfying. And this is all that I ask of my days off. Yesterday was a "stagger around" day as I recovered from three heavy nights at the Beeb. I can't remember exactly where it went, although I slept for much of it. I cycled down to Marble Arch in the evening to get some Crampex tablets from the emergency pharmacy there after suffering two agonising bouts of cramp. (Clearly, the benefits of tablets Rolf gave me for the problem in Portugal had worn off.) I tend to stretch in my sleep, an exercise that brings a painful wakening as my leg muscles tie themselves in knots.

Then I spent half an hour putting up curtain rails for the girls in the flat below. They had tried themselves but ran into a concrete lintel that defied their attempts (& damn-near blunted my drill). So they left a "please help" message on the answer phone. They were duly grateful. I spent half an hour tidying the patio, in the process sending leaves from dead sweet peas floating down into the garden below, arrivals that brought exclamations from Stef & Herman & an invitation to join them for a glass of wine. I did, drinking their chilled Spanish red wine & catching up on their lives. It was the first drop of "get-younger-potion" I'd had since my return from Portugal & very pleasant too. Stef told me I drank the wine too fast, a sin I readily acknowledged as I recalled Jones' frequent admonitions on the subject. But I went over to water when I'd had enough & I intend to get back on the wagon for a while after a "get very younger" holiday in Portugal where life without beer in the heat was unimaginable. I can't say I've missed it since getting back, certainly not while I've been working overnight.

My last two nights were taken up by the Croatian offensive. I informed the editor when I arrived on Thursday night that I expected the Croats to go in at dawn & suggested that we should plan accordingly. He was dubious but he had the good grace later to acknowledge the accuracy of my prediction. As it happened, I had just finished producing a Balkan package with a new correspondent & was about to take breakfast when news of the attack broke. Breakfast went by the board & I spent the following five hours with the correspondent doing lightning hourly updates. On both nights, I had several spells as bulletin producer. Thursday was fairly routine, barring one nasty slip, not mine but also not pleasant. On Friday, the first bulletin was so easy that I did not have to open my mouth, a rare event. But in the next two, a combination of human error and technical problems caused multiple disasters as cassettes failed to materialise & we battled to stay on air. I felt as though I'd been through the war myself.

So I was more than ready for my days off. Although it's still sunny, the weather has cooled sufficiently to allow the use of a blanket at night, much to my relief. For several days I had been taking "cold" showers so tepid that there was no sense of shock when the water poured out. Gentle snores pervade the room from the nook where His Nibs takes his rest on a bearskin rug, propped up against a comfortable cushion. The recent heat has got to him & he's spent most of the past week stretched out, like a pegged tiger skin, trying to stay cool. I plan to launch a minor assault on the flat over the next 24 hours. The place needs love & attention, at least a minor clear-up. As always, the furniture knows when Jones is away and scatters itself around in gay abandon.

This afternoon, I got around to doing some long overdue ironing while keeping an eye on the World Athletics Championships in Sweden. The big event for the Brits was the final of the Men's 100m, all the major titles for which were held by the 35 year old British grandfather (I kid you not) Linford Christie. His son emulated his father a couple of weeks ago by becoming a teenage dad. The impressive bulge in Christie's shorts has long been the subject of irreverent press comment and is clearly not there merely for display purposes. One could have been forgiven, watching the race, for thinking that it was the African championships. Christie, who'd suffered hamstring problems in the semis, ran a creditable race but aggravated his injury and lost his title. Heavily-muscled and totally titless female athletes were doing their own high-speed thing, confirming my suspicions that boobs are detachable and the girls merely leave them in the changing room when they don't need them.

I watched a super film last night, an Italian production, called Mediterraneo about a small group of Italian soldiers sent to occupy an isolated Greek island during the 2nd World War. The charming story traces their gradual absorption into the local community, a tale almost credible but so far removed from the horrors of the Balkans as to come from a different planet. And there's another highly recommended film tonight, described by the Independent's rigorous critic as one of the best films ever made. We shall see.

For my exercise, I wandered down to the nursery where I found two plants to replace one that has died, either of Red Spiders' Mite or the spray I used against it. I removed the dead creeper from the basket that hangs over the stairs and replaced it with a fern and something leafy recommended by a nurseryman. It looks good. Hope it lasts.

With a couple of hours to spare, I have also delved a little deeper in the Windows 95 (test) programme I've been using for the past few months. One tends to learn just enough to use the thing and to ignore the other 80%. So I took the time to explore a few of the features I'm not familiar with and was pleased with my efforts. I needed the advice of the Telephone Helpdesk to resolve a few difficulties, one of which, I gathered, was a weakness that has been eliminated in the final version. This is due on sale in a couple of weeks and, according to the reports I've been reading, likely to sell in the millions and obliterate the IBM opposition. I believe them. It's a brilliant system. I saw a BBC note this week saying the Beeb had already decided to adopt it. I'm not surprised.

Thank you, as always, for your calls and faxes. Life wouldn't be the same without them.