2010 — 16 October: Saturday
Quite how it can be so long1 since Helen Shapiro had a hit with "Walking back to happiness" will have to remain one of Life's Little Mysteries. It's a brisk, breezy start to the day. I know — I've just been clearing the car's windows in case I end up ferrying Peter to the dentist this morning. Welcome, cuppa! Brrr.
Memories are made of this
As I scan the artwork of the first of my seven Scott Walker CDs I see confirmation in the sleeve notes (as first mentioned here in the wake of a TV documentary about Walker) of the late Wally Stott's involvement. I also remember (courtesy of my invaluable 1983 edition of the "Rolling Stone encyclopaedia of rock & roll") that Scott Walker is really Scott Engel. However, can I find the updated2 1995 edition that I clearly recall buying in a shopping mall bookshop's remaindered bin in Danbury on the 14th August 1996? I can picture the book (a fat and rather floppy paperback) and precisely where it used to live. But my chaotically re-populated bookshelves are a whole different matter. I'm seriously thinking of photographing each shelf as an aide memoire.
Meanwhile, Peter has just rung from somewhere on the A31. They're going direct to the dentist and then will swing by to drop him off (for some unspecified portion of the day) while Peter's g/f whizzes over to Bognor to do some Legal Aid work or some such. I gather he's forgotten his house key (I presume for the London flat) and that that has complicated logistical matters.
It's 10:34 and the sun is shining. I'd better put the kettle on.
Somewhat later
It's 18:29 and some enticing preparatory smells are wafting out of the kitchen where, I gather, Peter's g/f is weaving some culinary magic. Peter and I popped into Soton to watch the film "The social network" and both enjoyed it very much. And the broken bits of the Staples bookcases are now packaged up ready for collection... I hope. The large plastic bags they supplied aren't all that strong, but I figure that's their problem, not mine. Plus my ex-next door neighbour popped back, so I now have yet another set of forwarded snail mail to go to pick up from the depot (because the card telling me this was misdelivered to him a couple of weeks ago) and I have yet another set of fees to pay for the privilege as the postage is, again, insufficient.
Meanwhile Mike sounds as if he's on the mend enough to risk a short walk tomorrow, too.