1June1997

My dear folks,

It’s the first day of June. My watch says so & so does my computer. It must be so. I’ll tell you what I discovered the other day. You’ll be familiar with the old rhyme about leap years. Well that’s all very well & good. But were you aware that there is also a century rule? A leap century has to divide by four as well. So 1900 was not a leap year but 2000 will be. There is another rule that applies to mega-milennia but I’m not sure what it is – only that I won’t have to worry about it. Meanwhile 1997 marches on. A couple of weeks & I’ll be down in Portugal; a few more & I’ll be in Canada. I look forward to these good things. Until then, it’s the flat-out trail here in London.

My plans for a relaxed Friday were thrown into confusion when I was tending the flower troughs on the patio wall overlooking the back gardens. I happened to take a close look at the 2”x4” wooden beams that I’d acquired from a builder some years ago & turned into a solid patio fence. Their solidity was history. A couple of them had been badly hit by rot in spite of my efforts down the years to coat them with preservative. The rot was invisible from above or the sides but all too apparent from below, as if the bug had taken pains to hide its evil. And the more closely I looked, the more I saw. It was bad news! With visions of some fated soul leaning on the fence & taking a dive into the garden 30 feet below, I resigned myself to a day’s labour.

Fortunately, there’s a builder’s yard about a mile away & I was able to obtain the 3.5m beams I needed there - & to get them home in the Rocket, sticking out like a couple of giant fireworks. I had to haul them up 3 floors through the lounge window & take them through the house. Much hammering, drilling & sawing followed. There were 2 dramatic moments on the edge of parapet. First I dropped a hand-saw into the garden below (plump Pupu showed just how fast she can still move in extremis) & then a bottle followed, rudely disturbing the telephone conversation Herman was conducting from a garden bench. Made my heart lurch. His too. They stayed indoors after that, or viewed my efforts from the end of the garden.

It was a long hot day. Very satisfying though. I also took the opportunity to insulate the low wall (holding the flower troughs) which had been allowing moisture to seep into the flat below. Most of the fence is replaced & the rest is braced to withstand the onslaught of an elephant. It’s all painted with two coats of wood preservative, nasty stuff that ought to keep the rot at bay for a while. In my efforts to paint the fence, I got rather more painted myself than I’d have chosen. My shirt & vest went straight into the washing machine while I dived into a bath. I emerged clean but the shirt is doomed to spend the rest of its life looking like a camouflage jacket.

Saturday was work. It was a busy one without ever getting out of control; with the pope arriving in Poland, the Taleban (for once) taking a hammering in Afghanistan, the coup repercussions in Sierra Leone, Ukraine & Russia reaching a deal over Sevastapol, Madeleine Albright laying down the law to Tudjman in Zagreb & Milosevich in Belgrade. Much speculation also about the likely outcome of the French elections & of the dispute between Germany’s government & its central bank. Of such diverse delights are my working days made. I’d meant to sit down & watch the unedited version of Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs on TV last night. But I lasted barely half an hour. Got ten hours sleep under my belt instead & felt much refreshed this morning.

Today, I’m mercifully off. Monday I begin the first of 10 night shifts that will all but bury me until I leave for Portugal on the 16th. We normally work patterns of 7 (12-hour) night shifts over a fortnight but I have been moved mid-pattern to a different team & found myself picking up half a dozen night shifts from each. At least I was able to twist the roster lady’s arm into taking me off the last few & sneaking a week at the Quinta into the bargain. Like most of my colleagues I find that I merely survive nights. There’s very little one does other than work, eat & try to sleep as much as possible in-between. My mercy is living just 10 mins from work. There are folks who have to commute 90 minutes each way. I don’t know how they do it, especially with families to cope with at the far end. Little wonder that night work is disliked so much.

I had a call from Jones last night to say that expected guests hadn’t arrived – this on the one & only night in the month when she’d accepted a dinner invitation. We agonised over possible reasons for the delay. There was nothing for it but to cancel dinner. An hour later she phoned back to say all was well – excepting dinner that is. The guests had been out with friends & had turned up safe & well. We were both relieved. Getting lost or worse in foreign climes can be scary stuff. Otherwise, Jones’s handyman has been up to continue with the various tasks I’d otherwise have to be doing myself on my next visit. It’s been a cloudy & showery week in that part of the world, while Britain has bathed in near unbroken sunshine.

For the rest of the day, I’ve ironing, overdue flat-accounts & a massive tidy up in mind. The place looks like a couple of those Texas twisters have gone through it. I had an invitation from friends to a picnic lunch in Hyde Park, which I declined in view of the backlog. I know that what isn’t done by tomorrow won’t get done until after Portugal. Thank you Mum for your fax this morning. Glad to hear that spring has finally arrived in Canada & not before time. We are starting to see a fair bit on the wires hear about how the Canadian elections are shaping up. I’ll be interested in the outcome, given the amazing results of the last one. I’ve got an idea that Chirac is having a nervous day just across the Channel.

Also found an email from Robbie Jones in (manager of a cement plant in) Ulco this morning. Thanks also. It’s a fascinating insight into life in deepest RSA. Have fingers crossed for the successful restarting of the mill on time. And how do the “white artisans” manage in today’s climate to maintain a “whites only” is it an “artisans only” tea-room. Clearly, it takes a while for attitudes to change. Mind you, leaders from Northern Ireland’s nationalist and unionist communities have been in RSA this week on a mission to discover how the Nats & the ANC managed to sit down & work out a new dispensation. Of course, the visitors’ sessions had to be set up so that the two N. Ireland groups enjoyed totally separate accommodation & never met each other.

That province is populated with troglodytes that make Eugene Terreblanche look like a liberal. Their gaze is entirely fixed on the past & ancient victories over their ancestors’ enemies! Quite unreal. By natural law they should simply have become a footnote in Ireland’s turbulent history. But whereas in Rwanda or Eastern Zaire, the Hutus & Tutsis get on with wholesale slaughters of their enemies out of sight of the cameras, Northern Ireland remains a hopelessly festering wound – or so it seems. So depressing.

Quite enough from me
Blessings
T