7July1995

London: 7th July 1995
My dear folks,

The world is normal. The English cricketers are busy getting whopped by West Indies. The youths of Luton have spent a second night rioting & setting their schools on fire after being provoked by police who had the temerity to come looking for an escaped delinquent on their estate. London's police chief has added insult to injury by revealing the outcome of a survey showing that young blacks carry out the great majority of the capital's muggings & young whites its burglaries. The politically-correct section of the community is outraged at such insensitivity. However, these events have not spoiled the day for thousands of spectators at Wimbledon where an even-tempered Pete Sampras is beating a bad-tempered Goran Ivanisevic, much to my satisfaction.

Mavis is sprawled somewhere in the basement garden where I last saw him peering into the fish-pond with a look that boded ill for its inhabitants. And my dear Jones has just phoned from Portugal where the electricity supply to the apartments has given up the ghost. Jones, I do hope the ghost has returned. (Later: Jones phones to say the electricity is back but only because she has disconnected the burned out pump which was upsetting it!! Ouch!!)

It is the first day of my weekend, grey & sultry. I cycled down earlier to the vet to look for some flea muti for our cat in Portugal. The receptionist there is well acquainted with the range & advised me on the most suitable product. When I handed her a note to pay for it, she enquired whether I might have "thruppence" change. In view of her relatively tender years, I expressed my surprise that she remembered thruppences, finding myself adding: "you've aged gracefully", a phrase that haunted me all the way home - I kept giving little shrieks, alarming passers-by. (I can hear my Jones saying: "TB, you didn't," in her Jones way). I phoned the receptionist after. I think she saw the funny side. I hope so. You can't retract such statements. They're feathers in the wind. (Jones, in the end, for reasons I will explain, we opted for a lethal flea collar. The receptionist says it would be a good idea to try to get Noite used to a ribbon in the meanwhile.)

I had some bumph in the post from Mercury, the comms. group whose lines I use for all my international calls. Subsequent enquires on my part revealed that the cheap call rate now ran from 6 p.m. (& not 8 p.m. as I'd thought) to 8 a.m. Also, that one could make discounted calls to SA the whole weekend and not merely in the evenings. Take note Mother, for I shall plan to contact you much earlier in future, especially in winter when there's the two-hour gap between us. I also had a call from a young woman who was pleased to tell me that I won a holiday to the Canaries. In her next breath, she announced that it would cost us only £19 each. I interrupted her flow to say thanks but no thanks & wish her a firm good afternoon. This is scam-land when it comes to holidays & the Canaries was not on my itinerary anyhow. (Sampras through to the final! Titanic struggle between Becker & Agassi underway!)