As
I drove home from a rather busy night shift the pundits on the radio were
discussing how the first scheduled flights to the island of St. Helena are
starting this week. A couple of years ago I had the chance of a six-month
secondment to St Helena. I seriously considered a prolonged holiday on a rock
in the south Atlantic; in the end I decided against it, but still I wonder “what if?”.
The
pundits were also discussing the stalled Brexit negotiations; pretty much every
so-called expert that the pundits wheel on to interview is rather downbeat on
the subject. Even those who were all for it in the run-up to the referendum are
now far more cautious in what they say. It’s interesting that everyone
interviewed on the matter (be they pro-
or con-) only considers the financial implications. I suppose that is a sad
indictment of today’s world.
I
spent a little while looking at Facebook. Friends are in the Scilly isles… I
wonder if we might have a week away over there at some point.
I then took myself off to bed for the morning whilst "er
indoors TM" had a go at tidying the living room. I woke a
few hours later to find an empty house, so over some toast I looked at the
geo-map and solved a couple of puzzles.
I
was just about to do something constructive when "er indoors TM"
phoned. She’d taken the dogs for a walk and Fudge had gone missing. I got
dressed and was just about to set off to help find him when she messaged to say
he was found. He does this so often - he just bimbles off on his own without a
care in the world. Calling him achieves nothing; I’ve studied dog psychology –
when you call his name, that just reassures him you are still around.
They
all came home shortly after that, and we had a late lunch. As we scoffed we
watched the first episode of the new series of Red Dwarf. Red Dwarf XII was
entertaining enough, but (like I said
yesterday about the Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy) in many ways it was
just more of the same. I liked it, but it was just like what had gone before. I
suppose that’s a good thing really.
We
got the dogs settled, and drove down to Hastings. It was a shame we had to park
so far out of town, but the walk down to the Old Town was easy enough. We soon
met Ken and Jane and their family in the Pump House, and after a few pints we
wandered out to watch the bonfire procession. As we waited my nephew walked
past. I greeted him cheerfully.
The
procession soon came past. As it did I saw an old schoolfriend walking along
with it. Paul Goring was with me at the Hastings Academy for Budding Geniuses
in the late 1970s and although we’ve kept in touch through the Internet, we’d
not met in person for years. I *think*
the last actual meeting was a chance encounter on Hastings sea front in 1983.
After
the procession had passed we went on to watch the fireworks which were
excellent (as always) and then we met
up with another old friend. I first met Phil Crosby in my first class at
primary school in 1969. He moved to Sweden thirty years ago; it was so good to
catch up.
We
got home just before 1am…
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