12February1998

Thursday 12 February 98
My dear folks,

Midnight looms. Jones has retired to bed. She wilts after 10. Mave is curled into his usual furry ball on the blanket that we now lay on the couch. It’s not for his comfort but to collect his hairs. Jones says he’s losing weight although I can’t say I’ve noticed it myself. Mavis too likes to retire early, preferably after a back scratch & a warm up snooze on one’s lap. He’s up early mind you, clambering over the bed to remind us that he’d like breakfast sooner rather than later. Dr Hannibal Lecter is glaring at me from the miniature TV in the corner as The Silence of the Lambs builds towards a heart-pounding conclusion. Damn scary I found it when I first saw it – and it’s pretty damn scary the second time too.

Two fairly pleasant days have drifted off into history. Wednesday we walked into town to see an exhibition of the history of British art collecting at the Royal Academy. Jones decided she was going to be smart; put her hair up & wore glad rags. Looked pretty good too. We stopped for a bite of lunch at the crypt of a church in Marylebone Road. Several churches now offer food in the crypt & do good business. This one did good quiche too. A small boy solemnly counted out our change.

Thence to the exhibition, which was huge & fortunately not too full. Jones is the arty member of the family although I did spot a Turner from a distance. I don’t suppose you get many marks for that. There were lots of Virgins and Child, most of them featuring distinctly unattractive models. Maybe virtue was thought incompatible with beauty or maybe it’s the eye of the beholder problem. There was lots of everything in fact, portraits, landscapes & modern stuff, certainly enough to linger over & to talk about afterwards. Jones loved it. I was pleased I’d been. There were more than a few I’d have gladly put up on our walls. We cheated & took a bus part of the way home.

Thursday we had ideas of going for a walk along the Thames but I was distracted by flat problems. “My” apartments have been full of faulty boilers & other hassles. Means making arrangements with the tenants & then getting keys to the fixer & getting them back again. And I’ve been engaged in a daily exchange of faxes with a set of rogue tenants & our lawyer. I also had to cycle into the Beeb for a meeting. When we finally got in our walk after lunch, it was to Kensington High Street for some minor business & purchases. The sun came out. It’s been marvellously warm these last few days. We headed up through Notting Hill. Jones loves the houses there & wishes she could have one. If we win the lottery I dare say she can. We came back through Hyde Park, stopping for coffee at a kiosk & watching the kids chasing the pigeons.

We’ve seen a little of the Nagano Olympics. But mainly it seems that the events we’re keen on are postponed & we get curling instead. I’ve learned more about curling these past few days than in the whole of my previous existence. I didn’t even know that those items they slide down the ice were made of solid stone. The competitors take the game with desperate seriousness, pulling agonised faces & yelling like the devil at the stones to slow down or speed up. As for the sweepers, they’re like religious fanatics. We did get to see the ski event, involving the amazing mogul descents & stunts. I ached for the competitors’ knees.

Friday p.m.:
It’s a day May would have been proud of, never mind February. Temps of C15, birds raising families, daffodils shooting up. Makes you wonder what happened to winter. We drove out to Cookham & went walking down the Thames towards Maidenhead, stopping midway at our regular café for teas & carrot cake. “Anythink more?”, the waitress asked each customer in turn. Jones even took off her coat, so warm did it become. Lots of other folk were strolling around in T-shirts. Absolutely balmy – the weather that is. We walked back talking of future plans and prospects. I work the next three nights, so I’ll go & put my head down.

Blessings
T