7July1997

Sunday 7 July
My dear folks,

Peace & quiet has descended on my life! I like it. It’s not every day that I find myself collecting my thoughts & sipping coffee in the salubrious comfort of the TAP Business Lounge at Heathrow. Today it was meant to be. Upgrading to the silliness of the Club enclave at the front of the plane was the only means of enjoying a whole three extra days at the Quinta, a price worth paying once a year or thereabouts. If I have a complaint, it’s about the difficulty of finding somewhere to plug in my laptop. The only obvious sockets have swipe-card phones plugged into them & I’ve had to do a quick exchange of plugs to get this underway & retain my battery power for the plane.

It’s the quiet after the storm – a seven hour shift on Friday & a 12-hour shift on Saturday. I cycled home almost overpowered by the reflection that “it’s all over for three weeks”. Mave was squeaking his displeasure from behind the door as I arrived. He’d spent Saturday locked in the flat & he’s a cat who places a premium on his freedom. He made a determined - & futile - bolt for the door again today as I edged my bags & two deck chairs through it. And seeing that there was no escape, he meowed piteously to explain how urgently he needed to be outside for a while. It was all in vain. My heart was hard. Stef is not due back from Italy until Monday p.m. & there’s no way I want the fat feline wandering the streets until then. There’s food & water enough to sustain him in the meanwhile.

Stef’s folks will be occupying the flat for a time during my absence. I spent two hours last night catching up on my correspondence & two more this a.m. trying to leave the flat presentable, especially the bathrooms, even though I’d warned Stef that she’d have to clean it as part of the deal. She was perfectly agreeable, & given the accompanying discount & the benefits to her family, so she should have been. We also agreed that I would overnight in the flat on my return, between Portugal & Canada. In fact, I’m invited to supper with her & the family – altogether an amicable arrangement.

Meanwhile, I am enjoying the blissful prospect of two holidays. Who knows, I might even win the lottery in my absence & be able to take two more on my return. As usual on a Saturday, I collected a pound from each member of the team & cycled down to the shops at lunchtime to take out lottery tickets - & as usual I wasted my time & their money. I wasn’t the only one. Shepherd’s Bush post office is monopolised on a Saturday by queues of people with lottery wins reflected in their eyes. I didn’t mind. Lottery tickets are mainly an investment in dreams. For a few hours, one can dream about a luxurious early retirement that no BBC pension plan is ever going to provide.