2009 — 18 June: Thursday
Another early night. Perhaps the drizzle will fizzle and we'll be able to fit in a walk later. Trouble is, I've now agreed to an interview on behalf of the Home Office who, for reasons best known to themselves, are keen to explore my views on domestic crime and policing. That's going to shoot a hole in my lunchtime on Friday, and also rule out a walk that day. I did suggest my opinions were unlikely to be typical or give them any usable data points but that doesn't seem to worry them — could be fun, therefore.
So to tonight's picture...
Christa and Peter in Old Windsor in 1981
... taken in Old Windsor. From Peter's size and expression, I'd "carbon date" it to around August 1981 which means it must have been on one of the weekends I was back in Old Windsor after having started my new job with IBM in Hursley in July. Christa and Peter remained in the Old Windsor house as we were arranging its sale. In the meantime, I was commuting down here for the working week, and spending most of my evenings putting up book shelves in the study.1 Busy time.
G'night, at 00:13 or thereabouts.
And good morning...
... at 08:26 as, with fresh cuppa to hand, I blearily survey the blazing sunshine and think: "Seems like a nice day." Overton is our chosen destination, but there's the little matter of breakfast and a packed lunch first.
Making allowances
Quote: The scans have been edited to remove information which could cause serious security issues and breach the privacy of the MP, their staff and other third parties. Talk about "get out of jail free"! (Source.)
I'm (obviously) reminded of Yossarian's time as a censor of mail (in "Catch-22") with his "more dynamic intralinear tensions":
The love that changed everything
I don't know this chap or his work, but let's just say I can empathise approximately 100% with what he feels. "I fell in love within a few minutes of talking to her," Jacques recalls. "There was something utterly compelling about Hari. When I met her, I knew I had met the person that my life was really about." (Source.)
Mind the tears! I'm an idiot, by the way. It's only just occurred to me that bereavement is yet another rite of passage. Doh! Right. It's time (09:42) to start buttering that bread. Better get dressed, too. See you later...
Thin ends of the wedge... dept.
I'm back — indeed, I've been back for 90 minutes or so — and have to face, for the first time, a new challenge as a widower: yesterday a button came off one of my favourite shirts, dammit. Where's Christa when I need her, heh? And where did she keep her cotton reels etc.? (I always used to thread her needles for her, so I should be able to manage that bit.) A voyage of discovery, I tell you. Need some food first, though. Walking does tend to sharpen the appetite. It's 17:42 and the news of, for example, the changing terms of the inquiry into the war in Iraq are irritating me. "They" no more "get" this than they did the anger we feel about "their" expenses.
Interesting times.