Thursday 26 March 1998,
My dear folks,
It is a grey, rainy London day. But since we need the rain and it serves to make the flat feel all the cosier, we can't say we mind. By we, I mean Jones, Mavis and me. Jones is dressing upstairs before she launches herself on a series of flat viewings on behalf of her nephew, Bevan. Mavis is curled into a furry ball in his customary spot on the couch, awaiting either a ray of sunshine or supper, whichever comes first, to tempt him down to the landing.
I am standing, peering through the window, talking to my computer and to you as I contemplate my final three shifts with the BBC and life thereafter. I have an early morning start on Friday, followed by two day-shifts over the weekend. On Monday we tidy up our lives and on Tuesday we drive to Portsmouth.
In the meanwhile, I am chasing the BBC in an effort to sort out my pension before my departure. The pensions dept is based in Cardiff where at a helpful lady assured me at the end of last week that the relevant correspondence was in the post. She meant the BBC internal post which, like the camel trains of old, takes its time. I must say that it does sound funny to be talking about "my pension" and to think of myself as a pensioner. Pensioners are the crinkly old folk, leaning on their walking sticks, who queue up in front of me in the Post Office for their weekly handouts when I am in a hurry to purchase stamps. Then they count it all twice before moving away from the counter. I suppose that like much in life, it’s a question of time.
The one bit of good news from the BBC was an unanticipated additional payment. They must be pleased to be getting rid of me. Until I received notice of this welcome titbit I had planned to take my laptop computer to the manufacturers to have it upgraded. It is 18 months old and, in computer terms, that is positively ante-diluvian. More to the point, it cannot cope with much of my software. As I pointed out to Jones, news of the additional cash was clearly intended by God as a sign that I should get a new laptop instead of an upgrade, one with all the latest bells and whistles. Jones, who is not as familiar with the divine mind as I am, didn't see it that way. She promptly set about dissuading me, insisting that my current model was quite powerful enough for all the things it needs to do.
She was joined in this campaign by Freglet who came up from Brighton yesterday to celebrate my imminent retirement. The three of us made our way to a pub that does excellent lunches for what proved to be a rather boozy meal. I confess that I speak on my own behalf. But as I remarked, we do not celebrate these occasions very often and, from time to time, they do not do too much harm. At £11 a bottle of wine, it’s a good thing too. It hurts when I think about it. That’s the kind of price we think of paying per case in Portugal.
Before I abandon the subject of computers, let me mention that the latest range of Dell Inspiron models seems very attractive. I have done a great deal of reading reviews of them on the Internet. But if anyone has any experience of them, I am all ears.
Last night we hired “The Full Monty” from the local library and sat down to watch after supper. I’d seen it before. Jones hadn’t. It was well done, sufficiently gritty to open one’s eyes to the realities of life on the dole. I’m sorry it didn’t do better at the Oscars. Strikes me that hometown fashion & fancy weigh heavily with the academy.
We heard a discussion beforehand of the five women nominated for the Best Actress award, four of them British and one American. The betting was that the American would get it, and so she did.
Thursday afternoon.
At that point, the door bell rang and one of my flat owners turned up for a working lunch to discuss the future management of her properties. The discussion was fruitful and the lunch pleasant, excepting the horribly smoky atmosphere in the little restaurant overlooking the canal. I had arranged to meet Jones at a flat about a mile away for a viewing after lunch. In the event I arrived late & after lingering hopefully at the entrance for 15 mins I hurried back to Shirland Road where I grabbed my bicycle and headed off for a second appointment about two miles in the opposite direction.
This time I found Jones waiting on the pavement. A young gentleman arrived in due course and conducted us up three dingy flights of stairs to a pokey little studio that was going for £72,000. The gentleman assured us that the owner was renting out the flat for £200 a week. We were as little impressed with his assertions as we were with the flat and, after thanking him for his kindness, we went our separate ways.
We walked back home where Jones again contacted the agent handling the first flat and arranged to take me straight around there. It proved to be a studio situated on the ground floor of an attractive and well-maintained ex-council block. The asking price is £50,000. One doesn’t find much in London at that price. The flat had its own entrance as well has the advantage of a separate kitchen and looked an altogether more attractive proposition. We have drawn it to Bevan's attention.
By the time we got home, we must have had a good eight miles under our belts and were ready for a cup of tea and the evening news. There’s been much coverage of the Canadian trip of the three princes, Charles, William & Harry. William has turned into a comely lad & has had to face the baying of the shriekies outside various venues in Vancouver. Scary stuff. Reminds me of the harpies who cluster, keening, around the BBC gates whenever some pop star arrives for a performance.
Rather less attention has been paid to the recovery of Princess Margaret from the stroke she suffered while on Mustique. As Private Eye put it, “Fat, rich woman not very ill”. She does not exactly rank high in the people’s affections and I suspect that Private Eye got just about right.
Will be down at the Quinta from April 3 to 16 and with Brendan in Witbank for about ten days from April 17. I then head back to London to tie up all the loose ends. I would hope to join Jones down in Portugal some time in June. Bevan will be staying in the flat in London during my absence.
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
19March1998
Thursday 19 March 1998,
My dear folks,
I wish you could see me, standing like Lord Muck, dictating a letter to my computer which now takes dictation as fast as I speak. Driven utterly to distraction last week by its failure to cope with the needs of the dictation programme, I spoke first to the computer boffins at the BBC & next to the manufacturers, Dan Computers, about adding more Ram chips. Then I drove out to Dan to purchase the chips &, finally heart in mouth, I delved into the computer's innards to slot the chips in. The motherboard was horribly obscured by all kinds of wiring and for a time I thought I would have to go back, cap in hand, to Dan with both chips and computer.
The operation went a little more smoothly once I had worked out which way the chips actually slotted in. Just as the lady at Dan had promised, the computer instantly recognised the effective tripling of its muscle power and it roared ahead like a patient cured of a malaise. It’s treated the dictation programme ever since with positive disdain. I was thrilled & I remained thrilled; it’s like trading in your old banger for a sports car. The lesson is that software manufacturers, for the best of commercial reasons, are prone to understate grossly the system specifications required to run their software.
If you are under the impression that I’m spending my life mucking around with computers, you are dead right. But it is the 10 and 12-hour sessions at BBC Online that take up my life, not the odd hour at home. I got back last night after my third consecutive midnight shift, to be greeted by a whinging Mavis who hardly knew whether he was more desperate to be fed or to get out. (When the chips were down, he was more desperate to be fed, and then cuddled.) I have become quite fond of cycling back to Maida Vale in the early hours. What a pleasure to have the roads largely to myself!
Jones is due back from Portugal in a few hours. I plan a mad scramble to clean and vacuum the flat before driving down to Gatwick to meet her early this p.m. She is leaving Sampson in the hands of our house sitters for the two weeks that she will be away, a much fitter & fatter dog than she found on her arrival a month ago. I have several days off work before beginning my final five shifts next week. We will need every hour as we get ready to drive down at the end of the month. Before that happens, I have meetings arranged with friends, flat owners, financial advisers, fixers & and neighbours interested in purchasing our flat.
I have also booked to fly to South Africa on April 17 to spend a week or so there with Brendan and family in Witbank. It is a visit that I have long had in mind. I will depart from Lisbon on a flexible ticket, which brings me back to London by the end of the month. I suspect that most of May will be required to sort out our flat affairs in London & to make arrangements with our numerous clients for the rest of the Quinta season. I would hope to join Jonesy down the Quinta sometime in June - or at least to fly down in-between.
Once again, for the many kind thoughts and good wishes, a big thank you. I will keep this on the short side and make an early start on the flat.
Blessings ever
T
My dear folks,
I wish you could see me, standing like Lord Muck, dictating a letter to my computer which now takes dictation as fast as I speak. Driven utterly to distraction last week by its failure to cope with the needs of the dictation programme, I spoke first to the computer boffins at the BBC & next to the manufacturers, Dan Computers, about adding more Ram chips. Then I drove out to Dan to purchase the chips &, finally heart in mouth, I delved into the computer's innards to slot the chips in. The motherboard was horribly obscured by all kinds of wiring and for a time I thought I would have to go back, cap in hand, to Dan with both chips and computer.
The operation went a little more smoothly once I had worked out which way the chips actually slotted in. Just as the lady at Dan had promised, the computer instantly recognised the effective tripling of its muscle power and it roared ahead like a patient cured of a malaise. It’s treated the dictation programme ever since with positive disdain. I was thrilled & I remained thrilled; it’s like trading in your old banger for a sports car. The lesson is that software manufacturers, for the best of commercial reasons, are prone to understate grossly the system specifications required to run their software.
If you are under the impression that I’m spending my life mucking around with computers, you are dead right. But it is the 10 and 12-hour sessions at BBC Online that take up my life, not the odd hour at home. I got back last night after my third consecutive midnight shift, to be greeted by a whinging Mavis who hardly knew whether he was more desperate to be fed or to get out. (When the chips were down, he was more desperate to be fed, and then cuddled.) I have become quite fond of cycling back to Maida Vale in the early hours. What a pleasure to have the roads largely to myself!
Jones is due back from Portugal in a few hours. I plan a mad scramble to clean and vacuum the flat before driving down to Gatwick to meet her early this p.m. She is leaving Sampson in the hands of our house sitters for the two weeks that she will be away, a much fitter & fatter dog than she found on her arrival a month ago. I have several days off work before beginning my final five shifts next week. We will need every hour as we get ready to drive down at the end of the month. Before that happens, I have meetings arranged with friends, flat owners, financial advisers, fixers & and neighbours interested in purchasing our flat.
I have also booked to fly to South Africa on April 17 to spend a week or so there with Brendan and family in Witbank. It is a visit that I have long had in mind. I will depart from Lisbon on a flexible ticket, which brings me back to London by the end of the month. I suspect that most of May will be required to sort out our flat affairs in London & to make arrangements with our numerous clients for the rest of the Quinta season. I would hope to join Jonesy down the Quinta sometime in June - or at least to fly down in-between.
Once again, for the many kind thoughts and good wishes, a big thank you. I will keep this on the short side and make an early start on the flat.
Blessings ever
T
15March1998
Sunday 15 March 1998
My dear folks,
Good morning to you from a grey London. Old Mave has wandered in to see what's up, found nothing of interest, & wandered out again. Sunday morning music is coming from the lounge, courtesy of Radio 3. There’s the twittering of birds from the garden and the occasional grumble of an overhead aircraft. The city seems to be at peace with itself.
I have bought myself one of those programmes that enables one to speak to a computer. When it works, it works amazingly well. But it has absolutely no sense of context & the most irritating habit of deliberately misunderstanding one. Some sentences go down in as little time as it takes to speak them. Others require five minutes of fiddling about with, that is, if you play by the book and do verbal corrections rather than grabbing for the mouse and keyboard in sheer bloody frustration. (Try explaining to a computer that you want ‘grumble’ and not ‘crumble’ or ‘rumble’, and why doesn’t it bloody listen to what you’re saying!)
I truly empathise with those parents who can be seen wandering desperately up and down, cradling a squalling infant who is deaf to every entreaty. The sellers of the programme warn you that you have to spend some time training it to the way you speak. But it is a little bit like adopting the cutest-looking, curly-haired child only to find that it comes pre-programmed with a totally different set of ideas. Also, the programme is very memory hungry & it stops regularly for up to 30 seconds while the hard disk grinds away doing the millions of calculations necessary. I have had a brief word with Dan computers who assure me that it is the simplest task to adjust the settings after inserting additional RAM chips - & that’s next on my agenda.
The reason I bought it that I have run into a bit of RSI as a result of too much keyboarding & mouse-work. But I am beginning to think the RSI the preferable companion. Persistence is clearly going to be called for. The programme has made me think much of the conclusions that Steven Pinker draws in his book ‘The Language Instinct’ about the way we anticipate what a speaker is about to say – and the vast selection of phrases & contexts that we constantly draw on. It was a very satisfying book, especially if one is willing to skip over the denser sections.
Now I’m in to Michael Hawkins’s Hunting Down the Universe. He’s trying to sell the notion that the missing matter is in the universe is contained in vast numbers of black holes. Unfortunately, he lacks Pinker's elegant phrases and does himself no favours with a turgid introduction. Still, the book contains some of the loveliest photos I’ve ever seen of supernovae & other mind-blowing galactic events and I hope the coming chapters prove equally rewarding.
I am getting used to the idea that I have only two weeks remaining with the BBC. Jonesy asks me from time to time whether I am having second thoughts. The answer is a resounding ‘no’ - none whatsoever. I did wonder for a short while, after declaring my interest in redundancy, whether I was really ready for it. It was, however, a very short while indeed. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the notion. My dread this previous month has been that the BBC would not see its way clear to doing a deal. My patience and Jones’s were both sorely tried as we awaited the outcome. My thanks to you for the many kind thoughts that have come my way.
Jones will be back in London this coming Thursday. We then have 12 days to wrap up our London lives before taking the Rocket down to Portsmouth & the ferry on the 36-hour voyage to Bilbao. We are giving ourselves 2 days to drive down to the Quinta & several weeks before I return to London to sort out our affairs here. Today I am to have lunch Stef & Herman with whom I have many things to discuss.
Among the interim arrangements I am making is the cancellation from the end of March of the second phone/fax line into the London flat. So those of you who still have the 2664211 number pencilled in, please pencil it out. It’s about to vanish. 2864592 will remain as a phone and fax number. From time to time over the weekends and evenings it may be engaged for lengthy periods while I’m surfing the net – something that I have been doing on the other number.
I cycled into Trafalgar Square on Friday to fetch my newly-renewed passport from the SA High Commission & then on to Hammersmith for a long session with a financial adviser. I was very grateful for the latter because the pension-option explanations from the Beeb were so confusing that it took 2 phone calls to the pensions department for us to straight things out. I finished the day with an 11-hour session at Online and cycled home in the early hours of Saturday morning. I have the weekend off.
Rather later the same morning, I called Bevan to see how he was placed. He had been out on the tiles, as was evident from very sleepy voice. We met in St Johns Wood to view a flat whose details he had received from agents. But the owner, who should have been expecting us, wasn't & after kicking our heels for 10 minutes, we walked back to Shirland Road. The only person who did well out of it was a charity collector into whose box I emptied a pocketful of coppers while waiting for Bevan.
After lunch (Mr Sainsbury's admirable microwaveables) we headed for Leicester Square see "Mrs Brown" (the tale of Queen Victoria's relationship with a Scottish servant). A bus appeared as we left the house & we sprinted to catch it. Bevan confessed himself quite impressed by his uncle’s turn of speed in extremis. (I blessed the surgeon who did the miracle on my back.) "Mrs Brown" was excellent. I heartily enjoyed it & I suspect that Bevan did too, although he doesn't always confess these things. We stopped off in a pub on the way home. I find that Bevan has bad effect on me when it comes to pubs. (Strangely, he says the same thing!)
Let me take myself off to lunch.
Blessings ever
T
My dear folks,
Good morning to you from a grey London. Old Mave has wandered in to see what's up, found nothing of interest, & wandered out again. Sunday morning music is coming from the lounge, courtesy of Radio 3. There’s the twittering of birds from the garden and the occasional grumble of an overhead aircraft. The city seems to be at peace with itself.
I have bought myself one of those programmes that enables one to speak to a computer. When it works, it works amazingly well. But it has absolutely no sense of context & the most irritating habit of deliberately misunderstanding one. Some sentences go down in as little time as it takes to speak them. Others require five minutes of fiddling about with, that is, if you play by the book and do verbal corrections rather than grabbing for the mouse and keyboard in sheer bloody frustration. (Try explaining to a computer that you want ‘grumble’ and not ‘crumble’ or ‘rumble’, and why doesn’t it bloody listen to what you’re saying!)
I truly empathise with those parents who can be seen wandering desperately up and down, cradling a squalling infant who is deaf to every entreaty. The sellers of the programme warn you that you have to spend some time training it to the way you speak. But it is a little bit like adopting the cutest-looking, curly-haired child only to find that it comes pre-programmed with a totally different set of ideas. Also, the programme is very memory hungry & it stops regularly for up to 30 seconds while the hard disk grinds away doing the millions of calculations necessary. I have had a brief word with Dan computers who assure me that it is the simplest task to adjust the settings after inserting additional RAM chips - & that’s next on my agenda.
The reason I bought it that I have run into a bit of RSI as a result of too much keyboarding & mouse-work. But I am beginning to think the RSI the preferable companion. Persistence is clearly going to be called for. The programme has made me think much of the conclusions that Steven Pinker draws in his book ‘The Language Instinct’ about the way we anticipate what a speaker is about to say – and the vast selection of phrases & contexts that we constantly draw on. It was a very satisfying book, especially if one is willing to skip over the denser sections.
Now I’m in to Michael Hawkins’s Hunting Down the Universe. He’s trying to sell the notion that the missing matter is in the universe is contained in vast numbers of black holes. Unfortunately, he lacks Pinker's elegant phrases and does himself no favours with a turgid introduction. Still, the book contains some of the loveliest photos I’ve ever seen of supernovae & other mind-blowing galactic events and I hope the coming chapters prove equally rewarding.
I am getting used to the idea that I have only two weeks remaining with the BBC. Jonesy asks me from time to time whether I am having second thoughts. The answer is a resounding ‘no’ - none whatsoever. I did wonder for a short while, after declaring my interest in redundancy, whether I was really ready for it. It was, however, a very short while indeed. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the notion. My dread this previous month has been that the BBC would not see its way clear to doing a deal. My patience and Jones’s were both sorely tried as we awaited the outcome. My thanks to you for the many kind thoughts that have come my way.
Jones will be back in London this coming Thursday. We then have 12 days to wrap up our London lives before taking the Rocket down to Portsmouth & the ferry on the 36-hour voyage to Bilbao. We are giving ourselves 2 days to drive down to the Quinta & several weeks before I return to London to sort out our affairs here. Today I am to have lunch Stef & Herman with whom I have many things to discuss.
Among the interim arrangements I am making is the cancellation from the end of March of the second phone/fax line into the London flat. So those of you who still have the 2664211 number pencilled in, please pencil it out. It’s about to vanish. 2864592 will remain as a phone and fax number. From time to time over the weekends and evenings it may be engaged for lengthy periods while I’m surfing the net – something that I have been doing on the other number.
I cycled into Trafalgar Square on Friday to fetch my newly-renewed passport from the SA High Commission & then on to Hammersmith for a long session with a financial adviser. I was very grateful for the latter because the pension-option explanations from the Beeb were so confusing that it took 2 phone calls to the pensions department for us to straight things out. I finished the day with an 11-hour session at Online and cycled home in the early hours of Saturday morning. I have the weekend off.
Rather later the same morning, I called Bevan to see how he was placed. He had been out on the tiles, as was evident from very sleepy voice. We met in St Johns Wood to view a flat whose details he had received from agents. But the owner, who should have been expecting us, wasn't & after kicking our heels for 10 minutes, we walked back to Shirland Road. The only person who did well out of it was a charity collector into whose box I emptied a pocketful of coppers while waiting for Bevan.
After lunch (Mr Sainsbury's admirable microwaveables) we headed for Leicester Square see "Mrs Brown" (the tale of Queen Victoria's relationship with a Scottish servant). A bus appeared as we left the house & we sprinted to catch it. Bevan confessed himself quite impressed by his uncle’s turn of speed in extremis. (I blessed the surgeon who did the miracle on my back.) "Mrs Brown" was excellent. I heartily enjoyed it & I suspect that Bevan did too, although he doesn't always confess these things. We stopped off in a pub on the way home. I find that Bevan has bad effect on me when it comes to pubs. (Strangely, he says the same thing!)
Let me take myself off to lunch.
Blessings ever
T
11March1998
11 March 98
My dear folks,
I shall be leaving the BBC at the end of this month. My departure is at my own initiative but as a result of the cutbacks that World Service Television is about to make.
When these were announced back in January, the bosses said that they would be pleased to entertain any inquiries about redundancy. I indicated my interest and have been in the process of negotiation ever since.
I had confirmation today that my application has been accepted. I have long intended to retire in my mid-Fifties and because this is a redundancy rather than voluntary early retirement, it means that I depart with a slightly enhanced pension.
Jonesy is very pleased and I am rather relieved myself. The uncertainty of the past few weeks has been a bit unnerving. Jonesy will be back in London on March 19 & we plan to take the ferry from Portsmouth to Spain at the start of April.
I intend to leave the car in Portugal and to return to London within a few weeks to make arrangements to rent or sell our London flat.
Depending on how quickly I can wind up affairs in London, I will join Jonesy down in Portugal again within a month or two. We are heavily booked for much of the summer and the idea is that we would move out of MCP towards the end of the year and into Casa Four which would then become our home.
As you know, I have been talking to a travel company about taking over our bookings from next year. If it does so, it will solve our bookings problem.
There are all kinds of questions that lie ahead but none that need immediate answers.
Sufficient, I think, unto the day.
Blessings ever,
T
My dear folks,
I shall be leaving the BBC at the end of this month. My departure is at my own initiative but as a result of the cutbacks that World Service Television is about to make.
When these were announced back in January, the bosses said that they would be pleased to entertain any inquiries about redundancy. I indicated my interest and have been in the process of negotiation ever since.
I had confirmation today that my application has been accepted. I have long intended to retire in my mid-Fifties and because this is a redundancy rather than voluntary early retirement, it means that I depart with a slightly enhanced pension.
Jonesy is very pleased and I am rather relieved myself. The uncertainty of the past few weeks has been a bit unnerving. Jonesy will be back in London on March 19 & we plan to take the ferry from Portsmouth to Spain at the start of April.
I intend to leave the car in Portugal and to return to London within a few weeks to make arrangements to rent or sell our London flat.
Depending on how quickly I can wind up affairs in London, I will join Jonesy down in Portugal again within a month or two. We are heavily booked for much of the summer and the idea is that we would move out of MCP towards the end of the year and into Casa Four which would then become our home.
As you know, I have been talking to a travel company about taking over our bookings from next year. If it does so, it will solve our bookings problem.
There are all kinds of questions that lie ahead but none that need immediate answers.
Sufficient, I think, unto the day.
Blessings ever,
T
9March1998
Monday, 9 March 98
My dear folks,
I have discarded my recent issue of Private Eye but, if I recall accurately, one of its headlines read: “Fat rich woman not very ill.” It was the Eye’s verdict on Princess Margaret’s recent setback & I strongly suspect that it was close to being the nation’s. HRH’s fondness for gin, tobacco & being entertained – preferably in Mustique -, together with her record as a bone-lazy royal, has not exactly endeared her to the people. Certainly there was more interest in the newsroom in the football results than the lady’s health problems. That may not be representative but it’s certainly indicative. You don’t sell newspapers by putting Margaret’s face on the front page. Interesting, too, to see the changes being mooted by Buckingham Palace as the monarchy tries to hold on to the nation’s affections by catching up with the times (including 1st-born child of which ever sex to inherit the crown & severe trimming of the fringe royals).
My dear folks,
I have discarded my recent issue of Private Eye but, if I recall accurately, one of its headlines read: “Fat rich woman not very ill.” It was the Eye’s verdict on Princess Margaret’s recent setback & I strongly suspect that it was close to being the nation’s. HRH’s fondness for gin, tobacco & being entertained – preferably in Mustique -, together with her record as a bone-lazy royal, has not exactly endeared her to the people. Certainly there was more interest in the newsroom in the football results than the lady’s health problems. That may not be representative but it’s certainly indicative. You don’t sell newspapers by putting Margaret’s face on the front page. Interesting, too, to see the changes being mooted by Buckingham Palace as the monarchy tries to hold on to the nation’s affections by catching up with the times (including 1st-born child of which ever sex to inherit the crown & severe trimming of the fringe royals).
6March1998
Friday, 6 March 1998
My dear folks,
Can it be that I have not written to you for a full week? I guess it must. Not that you have missed much. Mainly I’ve been working – long hours too. It’s the norm to arrive early, take a short break & leave late. We all commune silently with our computers, lost in our little worlds! The bustling gang at World TV, on the other side of the glass windows, say we look like a lot of librarians. Be that as it may, I have not only settled into Online, I even spent a day inducting another newcomer into its mysteries. He was luckier than I was for, having fallen through most of the trapdoors, I was well placed to advise him where not to put his feet.
I’ve still much to learn but at least I can fly the thing now. I’m still getting to grips with the audio editing software & I haven’t touched the video editing programme. We have specialists who do most of this work although we’re all expected to be familiar with it. It’s been raining lots. I got wet two mornings in a row & sloshed my way along the corridors to Online in my bright yellow waterproofs, looking like an oilrig worker.
On Wed I cycled into town to renew my South African passport which runs out at the end of this month. On the last occasion it was a relatively painless process. This time I found myself filling out numerous lengthy forms that demanded to know all kinds of impossible details of my wife’s and parents’ history as well as my own. Then I was fingerprinted, five & five. I thought I might as well apply for the new 10 year passport until I learned that it would take 3 months to issue. This is now the prerogative of Pretoria. The days when I had a passport renewed in 15 minutes (I happened to know the embassy minister) are gone for ever. Three weeks, I was told, if I was lucky. And £14 to fax the application to Pretoria!
I fell into conversation with the fingerprint lady who had been posted in London for 23 years & remembered the Dawie de Villiers era with me. We both remembered the dignitaries who’d occupied the ambassador’s office in the 80s. She relaxed sufficiently to muse over the twists of fate. “The people who used to demonstrate outside on the pavement are now inside running the high commission,” she informed me. It might be more interesting to know what had happened to the people who used to be inside, making discreet free drinks available to the London constabulary who ensured that the demonstrators toed the line. “We look after our friends,” as one of them once confided. Not that it did them much good in the end.
Stef caught sight of me yest. as I was setting off for the bank. She said I looked so miserable that she felt compelled to invite me to supper last night. I didn’t know that I was looking down but I was pleased to join her & Herman. He turned out an elegant tuna steak & salad while we plotted our futures. They have been outgrowing their garden flat where they both work as designers, he in the study, she in the bedroom. They made approaches to purchase the flat above them but without success. She does all the computer work while he uses more traditional methods. They’re in great demand from artists & galleries & do lots of fat glossies.
I’m reaching the end of Steven Pinker’s language book where he mocks the elegant grammar rules developed mainly by the Victorians to distinguish the well-bred from the working class. He’s no time for those offended by split infinitives or dangling participles. That would probably come as good news for a lot of my colleagues who couldn’t tell a participle from a propeller shaft. I confess I still throw up my hands at some of the mangled constructions that even BBC journalists are regularly guilty of. But then our prejudices are our oldest friends and it’s a cruel person who robs us of them.
I work Sat/Sun from 1100 to 2100. I’m off Mon/Tues; the rest of the week I work shifts that begin either at 0600 or 1400. I responded to an ad in my computer mag for a free ticket to the Windows 98 exhibition at Olympia next week. It’s a saving of £15. The downside is that everybody in the computer business gets your details to flood you with emails & offers.
Sampson could be heard barking loudly as I chatted to Jones this evening. She had planned to join friends for a dinner party but had her plans disrupted by a leaking pipe that required emergency attention. She’s had enquiries from one or two potential guests down there & I’ve had a steady dribble of responses this end to our latest ad in the BBC magazine. We’ve still got gaps either side of the 3-month high season but it’s looking like a busy year.
Blessings
T
My dear folks,
Can it be that I have not written to you for a full week? I guess it must. Not that you have missed much. Mainly I’ve been working – long hours too. It’s the norm to arrive early, take a short break & leave late. We all commune silently with our computers, lost in our little worlds! The bustling gang at World TV, on the other side of the glass windows, say we look like a lot of librarians. Be that as it may, I have not only settled into Online, I even spent a day inducting another newcomer into its mysteries. He was luckier than I was for, having fallen through most of the trapdoors, I was well placed to advise him where not to put his feet.
I’ve still much to learn but at least I can fly the thing now. I’m still getting to grips with the audio editing software & I haven’t touched the video editing programme. We have specialists who do most of this work although we’re all expected to be familiar with it. It’s been raining lots. I got wet two mornings in a row & sloshed my way along the corridors to Online in my bright yellow waterproofs, looking like an oilrig worker.
On Wed I cycled into town to renew my South African passport which runs out at the end of this month. On the last occasion it was a relatively painless process. This time I found myself filling out numerous lengthy forms that demanded to know all kinds of impossible details of my wife’s and parents’ history as well as my own. Then I was fingerprinted, five & five. I thought I might as well apply for the new 10 year passport until I learned that it would take 3 months to issue. This is now the prerogative of Pretoria. The days when I had a passport renewed in 15 minutes (I happened to know the embassy minister) are gone for ever. Three weeks, I was told, if I was lucky. And £14 to fax the application to Pretoria!
I fell into conversation with the fingerprint lady who had been posted in London for 23 years & remembered the Dawie de Villiers era with me. We both remembered the dignitaries who’d occupied the ambassador’s office in the 80s. She relaxed sufficiently to muse over the twists of fate. “The people who used to demonstrate outside on the pavement are now inside running the high commission,” she informed me. It might be more interesting to know what had happened to the people who used to be inside, making discreet free drinks available to the London constabulary who ensured that the demonstrators toed the line. “We look after our friends,” as one of them once confided. Not that it did them much good in the end.
Stef caught sight of me yest. as I was setting off for the bank. She said I looked so miserable that she felt compelled to invite me to supper last night. I didn’t know that I was looking down but I was pleased to join her & Herman. He turned out an elegant tuna steak & salad while we plotted our futures. They have been outgrowing their garden flat where they both work as designers, he in the study, she in the bedroom. They made approaches to purchase the flat above them but without success. She does all the computer work while he uses more traditional methods. They’re in great demand from artists & galleries & do lots of fat glossies.
I’m reaching the end of Steven Pinker’s language book where he mocks the elegant grammar rules developed mainly by the Victorians to distinguish the well-bred from the working class. He’s no time for those offended by split infinitives or dangling participles. That would probably come as good news for a lot of my colleagues who couldn’t tell a participle from a propeller shaft. I confess I still throw up my hands at some of the mangled constructions that even BBC journalists are regularly guilty of. But then our prejudices are our oldest friends and it’s a cruel person who robs us of them.
I work Sat/Sun from 1100 to 2100. I’m off Mon/Tues; the rest of the week I work shifts that begin either at 0600 or 1400. I responded to an ad in my computer mag for a free ticket to the Windows 98 exhibition at Olympia next week. It’s a saving of £15. The downside is that everybody in the computer business gets your details to flood you with emails & offers.
Sampson could be heard barking loudly as I chatted to Jones this evening. She had planned to join friends for a dinner party but had her plans disrupted by a leaking pipe that required emergency attention. She’s had enquiries from one or two potential guests down there & I’ve had a steady dribble of responses this end to our latest ad in the BBC magazine. We’ve still got gaps either side of the 3-month high season but it’s looking like a busy year.
Blessings
T
27February1998
Friday, 27 February 98
My dear folks,
Mave is tucked up in a furry ball on his blanket. Carmina Burana echoes around the study. A wealth of conversations & faxes has brought me up to date with several of your lives. Thank you for your news. After four long shifts, I’ve the weekend to myself. The shifts have been getting easier as I get to grips with the job. The hours this week suited me well, 1400 to midnight. Gave me time to get things done before work & a ride back home along quiet roads in afterwards. Next week, it’s 0600 to 1600. We’re promised foul weather this weekend, snow storms up north & general nastiness elsewhere. Violent winds in northern England have already stripped roofs off buildings & left a trail of capsized trucks along the motorways. If it’s not too nasty, I shall try to get some walking in. I need it.
In-between shifts I’ve been doing the little things that wait upon us. Someone nicked one of our dustbins – we suspect the builder renovating a flat next door - so I bought a new one & painted several large white “90s” on it before installing it. I also changed the light switch on the bathroom ceiling. Don’t sniff. It’s a delicate & challenging job.
For safety reasons British bathrooms have the spring-loaded pull switches whose string-pulls dangle just inside the door. The springs wear out after a few years. Problem is that one has to turn off the power to get at the light switch on the ceiling of a windowless bathroom. And the new switches are much bigger than the old variety that we still have. This means that, having dismantled the switch in semi-darkness, I have to transfer the innards of the new switch to the old switch housing & put it all together again while the spring tries to blow the thing apart. I’m pleased to say the switch works again. Makes me think of the fellows who dismantle bombs for a living.
I cycled out to the fringes of Chiswick one morning for a chat with Simply Travel, the company that may take over our bookings next year. We’ve met their representatives several times & know several people in the Algarve who have gone in with them. Their regional chief is flying to Portugal shortly & will call in on Jones again for a further look at the units before we conclude any deal. Out of interest, I asked a couple of local estate agents around to value the flat. I may one day do a deal with one of my flat owners and I wanted an idea of what the apartment might fetch. Inevitably, the agents’ estimates varied widely. What they did agree on was the strong demand for property in the area – which is nice to know.
Midweek the postman rang the bell with a parcel that turned out to be the new power unit for my Logitech scanner, all the way from Switzerland. I’d spent hours getting the scanner checked by the suppliers who told me (before the guarantee ran out in December) that it worked fine for them. But it wouldn’t work off either of my computers. So I got on to the Logitech Helpline who, in their efforts to revive it, sent me first a new connecting unit, then (when that didn’t work) the latest software package & finally the new power unit – all free of charge. I plugged the power unit in with my fingers crossed. To my great joy, the scanner promptly returned, like Rip van Winkel, to life & has been hard at work ever since. I wrote a sincerely grateful letter to Logitech, thanking them for their extraordinary service.
Such are my small successes. The inevitable flat repairs & Quinta correspondence have filled any other spare moments. And I’ve gone through 18 years of files with a fine toothcomb & emptied tons of redundant paper into the paper bin on the opposite pavement. In spite of the activity I’ve been feeling a bit restless as if there was something missing from my life without my quite knowing what. I’m well aware of my absent wife. Mave has missed her too.
He hates being left alone in the flat all day. And he wants to go out in the early hours after I’ve fed him. I don’t mind his going out during the day but it’s out after midnight. He got so frustrated the other night that he nipped me, something he used to do to Barbara from time to time & for no obvious reason, to her great irritation. I explained to him that he might be able to get away with it with her but as far as I was concerned it was tantamount to a suicide note. After an hour of somewhat strained relations we made it up & he went to sleep on my lap as usual. Mavis is not one to hold a grudge, not while there’s only one lap & feeder in the flat, anyhow.
What many of you may not know is that Mavis writes secret letters to my younger niece in Germany, mainly of a plaintive nature & with atrocious spelling. It’s a correspondence that both parties appear to enjoy to judge by his missives (of which I sometimes catch a glimpse) & the replies he gets. He’s a dreadful whinger & can be a bit of a tittle-tattle but at least he writes with feeling & from the heart.
Jones, for her part, has been spending much of her days looking after our dog, Sampson. Sampson has been walked & brushed & cooked for within an inch of his life. Jones can’t believe how much he eats, although his ribs continue to show. He has been much bothered at times by an itchy skin that he scratches until he bleeds. Still, he appears, by the sound of things, to have settled in well enough. Jones’s cat, Noite, for her part, has ignored her & continued to live her contented life in the cottage with our house sitters. Jones misses the comfort of her cat which, I assure her, will move back into MCP the moment the house sitters depart. Jones accepts this but still misses her cat.
Saturday:
No sign of that weather yet, not in this part of the world anyhow. In fact, apart from a really cold wind, it’s been a lovely day. I walked into the computer fair via Regents Park and home again via Hyde Park. There were signs warning of the traffic chaos tomorrow when an estimated 250,000 country life enthusiasts are expected in London on a mega-march in support of a variety of causes. The legally threatened fox hunting fraternity are said to be the moving spirits but the march’s aims are sufficiently diverse to have attracted leading lights from both government & official opposition. It’s a good day to stay out of town. And I guess the foxes will get a day off as well while the huntsmen rally.
Jones, I found two Portuguese language CD ROM courses at the computer fair, one for absolute beginners at £25 and a 2nd one that didn’t specify for £14, which I bought. I’ll load it up and let you know how it looks. Strange that after months of looking in vain for anything on the subject, I should walk into a choice. The proprietor showed me a selection of similar courses in languages ranging from Finnish to Chinese. I also managed to change my new mouse for one with the right fitting although I have yet to persuade it to function properly.
I stopped over at Dillons to get Steven Pinker’s new book “How the Mind Works”. It’s had some excellent write ups here. At the same time I bought Michael Hawkins “Hunting down the universe” which has also enjoyed favourable reviews. One of these days I shall know a great deal.
Bevan is joining me for a Chinese supper this evening, whether ordered in or consumed out remains to be seen.
Blessings.
T
My dear folks,
Mave is tucked up in a furry ball on his blanket. Carmina Burana echoes around the study. A wealth of conversations & faxes has brought me up to date with several of your lives. Thank you for your news. After four long shifts, I’ve the weekend to myself. The shifts have been getting easier as I get to grips with the job. The hours this week suited me well, 1400 to midnight. Gave me time to get things done before work & a ride back home along quiet roads in afterwards. Next week, it’s 0600 to 1600. We’re promised foul weather this weekend, snow storms up north & general nastiness elsewhere. Violent winds in northern England have already stripped roofs off buildings & left a trail of capsized trucks along the motorways. If it’s not too nasty, I shall try to get some walking in. I need it.
In-between shifts I’ve been doing the little things that wait upon us. Someone nicked one of our dustbins – we suspect the builder renovating a flat next door - so I bought a new one & painted several large white “90s” on it before installing it. I also changed the light switch on the bathroom ceiling. Don’t sniff. It’s a delicate & challenging job.
For safety reasons British bathrooms have the spring-loaded pull switches whose string-pulls dangle just inside the door. The springs wear out after a few years. Problem is that one has to turn off the power to get at the light switch on the ceiling of a windowless bathroom. And the new switches are much bigger than the old variety that we still have. This means that, having dismantled the switch in semi-darkness, I have to transfer the innards of the new switch to the old switch housing & put it all together again while the spring tries to blow the thing apart. I’m pleased to say the switch works again. Makes me think of the fellows who dismantle bombs for a living.
I cycled out to the fringes of Chiswick one morning for a chat with Simply Travel, the company that may take over our bookings next year. We’ve met their representatives several times & know several people in the Algarve who have gone in with them. Their regional chief is flying to Portugal shortly & will call in on Jones again for a further look at the units before we conclude any deal. Out of interest, I asked a couple of local estate agents around to value the flat. I may one day do a deal with one of my flat owners and I wanted an idea of what the apartment might fetch. Inevitably, the agents’ estimates varied widely. What they did agree on was the strong demand for property in the area – which is nice to know.
Midweek the postman rang the bell with a parcel that turned out to be the new power unit for my Logitech scanner, all the way from Switzerland. I’d spent hours getting the scanner checked by the suppliers who told me (before the guarantee ran out in December) that it worked fine for them. But it wouldn’t work off either of my computers. So I got on to the Logitech Helpline who, in their efforts to revive it, sent me first a new connecting unit, then (when that didn’t work) the latest software package & finally the new power unit – all free of charge. I plugged the power unit in with my fingers crossed. To my great joy, the scanner promptly returned, like Rip van Winkel, to life & has been hard at work ever since. I wrote a sincerely grateful letter to Logitech, thanking them for their extraordinary service.
Such are my small successes. The inevitable flat repairs & Quinta correspondence have filled any other spare moments. And I’ve gone through 18 years of files with a fine toothcomb & emptied tons of redundant paper into the paper bin on the opposite pavement. In spite of the activity I’ve been feeling a bit restless as if there was something missing from my life without my quite knowing what. I’m well aware of my absent wife. Mave has missed her too.
He hates being left alone in the flat all day. And he wants to go out in the early hours after I’ve fed him. I don’t mind his going out during the day but it’s out after midnight. He got so frustrated the other night that he nipped me, something he used to do to Barbara from time to time & for no obvious reason, to her great irritation. I explained to him that he might be able to get away with it with her but as far as I was concerned it was tantamount to a suicide note. After an hour of somewhat strained relations we made it up & he went to sleep on my lap as usual. Mavis is not one to hold a grudge, not while there’s only one lap & feeder in the flat, anyhow.
What many of you may not know is that Mavis writes secret letters to my younger niece in Germany, mainly of a plaintive nature & with atrocious spelling. It’s a correspondence that both parties appear to enjoy to judge by his missives (of which I sometimes catch a glimpse) & the replies he gets. He’s a dreadful whinger & can be a bit of a tittle-tattle but at least he writes with feeling & from the heart.
Jones, for her part, has been spending much of her days looking after our dog, Sampson. Sampson has been walked & brushed & cooked for within an inch of his life. Jones can’t believe how much he eats, although his ribs continue to show. He has been much bothered at times by an itchy skin that he scratches until he bleeds. Still, he appears, by the sound of things, to have settled in well enough. Jones’s cat, Noite, for her part, has ignored her & continued to live her contented life in the cottage with our house sitters. Jones misses the comfort of her cat which, I assure her, will move back into MCP the moment the house sitters depart. Jones accepts this but still misses her cat.
Saturday:
No sign of that weather yet, not in this part of the world anyhow. In fact, apart from a really cold wind, it’s been a lovely day. I walked into the computer fair via Regents Park and home again via Hyde Park. There were signs warning of the traffic chaos tomorrow when an estimated 250,000 country life enthusiasts are expected in London on a mega-march in support of a variety of causes. The legally threatened fox hunting fraternity are said to be the moving spirits but the march’s aims are sufficiently diverse to have attracted leading lights from both government & official opposition. It’s a good day to stay out of town. And I guess the foxes will get a day off as well while the huntsmen rally.
Jones, I found two Portuguese language CD ROM courses at the computer fair, one for absolute beginners at £25 and a 2nd one that didn’t specify for £14, which I bought. I’ll load it up and let you know how it looks. Strange that after months of looking in vain for anything on the subject, I should walk into a choice. The proprietor showed me a selection of similar courses in languages ranging from Finnish to Chinese. I also managed to change my new mouse for one with the right fitting although I have yet to persuade it to function properly.
I stopped over at Dillons to get Steven Pinker’s new book “How the Mind Works”. It’s had some excellent write ups here. At the same time I bought Michael Hawkins “Hunting down the universe” which has also enjoyed favourable reviews. One of these days I shall know a great deal.
Bevan is joining me for a Chinese supper this evening, whether ordered in or consumed out remains to be seen.
Blessings.
T
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