A striker
A day with Sue and John, scorchingly hot, and ending in big spots of rain, and thunder north of Birmingham. Opted not to do anything arduous. I spent plenty of time reading in the back garden under a tree, Pascale Petit's Mama Amazonica, and also reading through a few copies of Supernatural Tales.
Mysteriously, I managed to accumulate five thousand paces playing football with Whiskey in the back garden. The day hadn't begun well between us. She undid my laces as I came into the kitchen this morning, and bit my hands. However this little pup is a keen footballer, leaping over the ball and biting bits of surface of it while barking and leaping happily. Something unexpected was happening to me, I found myself positively liking this dog a great deal. I hadn't kicked a football in years, and this was great fun too, and I found myself dancing around the garden and laughing with the pup.
Evening, Lorraine cooked curries supported by Sue her Sue chef, and we forked these down happily. Then Sue made an astonishing dessert that was utterly delicious and packed with cream and chocolate, and meringue and containing golden syrup, caramelised condensed milk and all on a base of shortbread.
Then sat chatting in the big green walled room. Sue brought out a box of family history, including a diary written in the second world war by her grandmother, who was in Eastbourne and writing about Tip and Run raids by fighter bombers in 1942, old photos. Also we looked at old family photos on the walls, poignantly of two brothers, one who died in WW1 and the other of the flu that followed it. Also looking at two paintings of Egypt (I am keen on all things Egyptian and spent some time listening to a lecture or two about Ancient Egypt today) and I think bought by a relative was in the Imperial Camel Corps in the first world war.
Heard today too about my poem The door in the wall (very loosely based on the story of the same name by H.G. Wells which has haunted me for many a year) has been accepted by Michael at London Grip.
Below Whiskey my opponent, mid game, and during a pause in hostilities.
Mysteriously, I managed to accumulate five thousand paces playing football with Whiskey in the back garden. The day hadn't begun well between us. She undid my laces as I came into the kitchen this morning, and bit my hands. However this little pup is a keen footballer, leaping over the ball and biting bits of surface of it while barking and leaping happily. Something unexpected was happening to me, I found myself positively liking this dog a great deal. I hadn't kicked a football in years, and this was great fun too, and I found myself dancing around the garden and laughing with the pup.
Evening, Lorraine cooked curries supported by Sue her Sue chef, and we forked these down happily. Then Sue made an astonishing dessert that was utterly delicious and packed with cream and chocolate, and meringue and containing golden syrup, caramelised condensed milk and all on a base of shortbread.
Then sat chatting in the big green walled room. Sue brought out a box of family history, including a diary written in the second world war by her grandmother, who was in Eastbourne and writing about Tip and Run raids by fighter bombers in 1942, old photos. Also we looked at old family photos on the walls, poignantly of two brothers, one who died in WW1 and the other of the flu that followed it. Also looking at two paintings of Egypt (I am keen on all things Egyptian and spent some time listening to a lecture or two about Ancient Egypt today) and I think bought by a relative was in the Imperial Camel Corps in the first world war.
Heard today too about my poem The door in the wall (very loosely based on the story of the same name by H.G. Wells which has haunted me for many a year) has been accepted by Michael at London Grip.
Below Whiskey my opponent, mid game, and during a pause in hostilities.
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