under another sun

Greatly uplifted this morning by an old chap from Toronto who sat next to me on the train having got on at Gatwick. He was a former Canadian infantryman, who was 91 and had just got off the plane and was making his way to Aldershot.  Helped him sort out his onward journey. He was so cheerful and articulate that he turned baleful commuters into a friendly group. He was a big reader, and seemed mentally bright as a button. Obviously thought Brexit was a mistake but some bloke sitting opposite us said firmly, 'it'll be all right'. We passed a field of unicorns at that point.  The Canadian, however, had to wait a year and a half after the war ended before he could be shipped home, so got to know England well. He was back to revisit memories of being 20, a taciturn nephew in tow. This put me in something of a good mood, not even completely dispelled by leaving my Berghaus wet-top on the train, and realising about twenty seconds after the train had left the station. Gah. The ...

Thank God for my new wet top, as I walked to the station in an absolute deluge this morning. I wore light coloured corduroy trousers and these were dark and heavy with rain by the time I got on the train, but my top half was bone dry. Managed to dry out during the morning, then went out to buy a sandwich for lunch and was surprised again by another hosing downpour, and had wet legs all over again. Otherwise an uneventful day at work, although quite pleasant. People talking about ebola. A slow and tedious journey home. Listening to the Zone of Interest, by Martin Amis. Then spoke to Janet walking back from the station after an MRI yesterday. Very happy to be back home with Lorraine. Reading Lorraine one or two of Kingsley Amis's letters before sleep. He cared lots about his poetry, I read some of it today and didn't like it. Below people taking shelter at lunchtime.

Woke annoyingly early, encouraged by Calliope, but Lorraine and I lurked abed nevertheless. A bus into town with Lorraine to buy myself a new Berghaus wet top, as the one I left on the train has not been found by lost property. Bloody pricey they are these days, but undeniably useful. I bought the usual petrol blue one. Walked home and then finished off some agency work and spoke to Mum before Lorraine arrived home with blonde hair, which as usual looks longer after visiting the hair dresser than before. Both of us wanted to stay in tonight and just spend time together. We ate a lemon chicken and broccoli recipe that Lorraine made, and later watched a documentary about the group Genesis. Revelling in the peaceful and uneventful.

Après moi le Deluge Ghastly night's sleep not helped by a gale which rattled the windows, and Lorraine's cats which kept interfering with me. One of them, Basil, has a habit of patiently resting one of her paws on you till you wake up. This is her cue to step away, sporting an expression which says, in cat language, "that was my idea". Experimenting today with podcasts. As a pilot I uploaded my podcast of this site . As I love the sound of my own voice so much, I may try other bits and pieces. A while ago I added a blog link to Mandy's blog . Mandy, who now lives in NZ was at the same school as me, Copland High School in Wembley in the year below mine. As you can see from her blog which carries a photo of her from 1978 that, unlike me, Mandy looks exactly the same. Galling's what I call it. You may notice that Mandy rather likes Bob Dylan. Also working on my poetry - but in a slightly disorganised way so the day slipped through my fingers with little to show...