Among the antiques, an old friend
Up early and made coffee for Bob, and we sipped it dolefully, somewhat sadder and wiser after what proved to be too many beers the night before. We are not as young as we were. Mad dog woke with a stiff neck which he blamed on swollen glands. He got a bit tetchy when I pointed out the fanciful nature of this diagnosis, and we bickered weakly till it was time for him to get his train.
Worked for a few hours, then decided that more than anything else in the world I needed a new pot for one of my cacti. Nearby there is a shop with old fashioned beautifully coloured pots with a Kew Gardens stamp on. But something in me balks at paying £20 for a flower pot. Passing the antiques auction place I decided to pop in there to see what was what. There was no useful pots, however instead I found an old friend working in there.
Cathy was a very good friend of my old friend Tim Gallagher. We'd not seen each other since shortly after his death. It was really good to see her, but we knew each other from a very difficult and painful time. Tim died of aids, and just the other day I heard a news item that in the UK people with aids can expect to live for decades, and made an equivalence with diabetes. For Tim, and his wife Rosa and lots of other people I knew these developments came way too late. Still life goes on, and it was good to chat to Cathy, before I spent quite a bit of time nosing about among the antiques, although to no avail.
After repotting my cactus in a tasteful indigoish pot bought cheaply from a flower shop, I spent hours cleaning my house, and poking bits of things into the loft, while listening to my audiobook of Mr Norrell and Jonathan Strange, which I now acknowledge as being rather brilliant. Although this has the disappointing consequence of having to admit that Anton was right.
Met Lorraine this evening for a bite in the tin drum, poor Lorraine had further adventures with Beth being in hospital due to a spell of a trapped nerve and fainting combo. Sometimes I'm rather relieved not to be a parent.
Up early and made coffee for Bob, and we sipped it dolefully, somewhat sadder and wiser after what proved to be too many beers the night before. We are not as young as we were. Mad dog woke with a stiff neck which he blamed on swollen glands. He got a bit tetchy when I pointed out the fanciful nature of this diagnosis, and we bickered weakly till it was time for him to get his train.
Worked for a few hours, then decided that more than anything else in the world I needed a new pot for one of my cacti. Nearby there is a shop with old fashioned beautifully coloured pots with a Kew Gardens stamp on. But something in me balks at paying £20 for a flower pot. Passing the antiques auction place I decided to pop in there to see what was what. There was no useful pots, however instead I found an old friend working in there.
Cathy was a very good friend of my old friend Tim Gallagher. We'd not seen each other since shortly after his death. It was really good to see her, but we knew each other from a very difficult and painful time. Tim died of aids, and just the other day I heard a news item that in the UK people with aids can expect to live for decades, and made an equivalence with diabetes. For Tim, and his wife Rosa and lots of other people I knew these developments came way too late. Still life goes on, and it was good to chat to Cathy, before I spent quite a bit of time nosing about among the antiques, although to no avail.
After repotting my cactus in a tasteful indigoish pot bought cheaply from a flower shop, I spent hours cleaning my house, and poking bits of things into the loft, while listening to my audiobook of Mr Norrell and Jonathan Strange, which I now acknowledge as being rather brilliant. Although this has the disappointing consequence of having to admit that Anton was right.
Met Lorraine this evening for a bite in the tin drum, poor Lorraine had further adventures with Beth being in hospital due to a spell of a trapped nerve and fainting combo. Sometimes I'm rather relieved not to be a parent.
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