Odd Socks and Tractors

I think it’s time to abandon this sea view and go back down to the town. I got the message from Mrs Llew. It’s impossible to pay her a compliment. ‘What me?’ ‘Huh’. ‘Don’t interrupt, I’m counting.’ That could be cups from the dishwasher or it could be my socks, which never match.

Last night I tried to point out to her that she is more of a mystery to me after 49 years than she was on February 20, 1961, when we met. The more I know her the more her individuality is a mystery to me.

‘Yeah, yeah. On the sea shore and all that’, she commented sweetly. Actually she reads everything I write here before I post it. and she hasn’t vetoed anything yet. But I took her point.

It’s been nice on this headland in the sun. When I was young I could see only a dark plain, full of folk, and there appeared no hope for them. But there is much work to do in our nearby town – the town of the old lady with the poppy in her shopping trolley. And I am heavily involved with it.

I am campaigning with others for the future existence of the local day centre for our town’s old and frail people.

I have also been involved as a contributing editor  of a book which I hope will be published by the British False Memory Society this autumn. There’s a lot to do in connection with that.

So it’s back down the hill to live and work on the landward side for a while.

Tonight the great tractors and trailers were plying back and forth around the local fields of stubble.

I expect I’ll visit them from time to time.

Even so.

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