Thinking about Wilfred Owen who was killed the day before the First World War ended on this day in 1918. I wonder how his poetry would have evolved should he have survived.
Started reading The Monk and the Philosopher today on the train, a book Sophie had given me a long time ago but had slipped down the back of the bookcase. Interesting dialogue between a father and a son -- the father a French Philosopher, and his son who became a Buddhist monk who gave up a promising scientific career in research to sit at the feet of Tibetan masters.
Disembarking from the train at Victoria, and a touch in the back and a whiff of sulphur and there was Spooner looking brown and slim and exceedingly well. Slitty-eyed twinkle present and correct.
Dragged myself into work feeling less than lively. However, the agency has won a few pitches lately and there was a cheery feeling about the place. Caught up with the French Bloke at lunch, and saw Max too. She is very close now to full term.
Spoke to lovely MJ a little after lunch, she had been looking at animal graves in America on the internet. Particularly liked Mr Chicken's grave. Mr Chicken was a rooster whose original legs were frozen off, and was given acrylic ones by the vet. It became something of a celebrity, but met a sticky end being mauled by raccoon six months later.
Free drinks in the bar at 4:30 which was an excellent way to start a weekend. Ended up going to the OSP to see Phil singing karaoke. Very nicely as it happened -- and there were some very earnest performers there.
Home and asleep on the train again.
Sitting at the feet of Masters part two... Below is a photo of Sophie and me with Martin Warner, taken at his retirement do the other week. Also a photo I nicked from the BBC of people marking their remembrance in the ruins of bombed out Coventry Cathedral.
Started reading The Monk and the Philosopher today on the train, a book Sophie had given me a long time ago but had slipped down the back of the bookcase. Interesting dialogue between a father and a son -- the father a French Philosopher, and his son who became a Buddhist monk who gave up a promising scientific career in research to sit at the feet of Tibetan masters.
Disembarking from the train at Victoria, and a touch in the back and a whiff of sulphur and there was Spooner looking brown and slim and exceedingly well. Slitty-eyed twinkle present and correct.
Dragged myself into work feeling less than lively. However, the agency has won a few pitches lately and there was a cheery feeling about the place. Caught up with the French Bloke at lunch, and saw Max too. She is very close now to full term.
Spoke to lovely MJ a little after lunch, she had been looking at animal graves in America on the internet. Particularly liked Mr Chicken's grave. Mr Chicken was a rooster whose original legs were frozen off, and was given acrylic ones by the vet. It became something of a celebrity, but met a sticky end being mauled by raccoon six months later.
Free drinks in the bar at 4:30 which was an excellent way to start a weekend. Ended up going to the OSP to see Phil singing karaoke. Very nicely as it happened -- and there were some very earnest performers there.
Home and asleep on the train again.
Sitting at the feet of Masters part two... Below is a photo of Sophie and me with Martin Warner, taken at his retirement do the other week. Also a photo I nicked from the BBC of people marking their remembrance in the ruins of bombed out Coventry Cathedral.
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