Lost and found

I’m drinking brandy, Jim is playing Steely Dan, and my tears have stopped for now. My sincerest thank you’s for your commiserations. My mother is having s humanist funeral. Jim has spent two days making a slide show of my mothers life. I’ve cried lot. This evening I lost her ring and my wedding rings. … Read more

The End.

I was wearing all black. A strapless bra so that my top would reveal my shoulders which are brown from gardening. A pair of black balloon trousers over fancy pants.
I had a small red case.
Two books and my smart phone with several albums which the old git downloaded for me.
I had my tickets which my darling Nick – a trolley dolly of excellence -had organised for me through his employer British Airways.
I had chewing gum, scent and a new lipstick I bought at London City Airport.

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Ten days that shook the world.

Where to begin.
My trip down to South West of England started inauspiciously.
I had stayed overnight with my writing partner, LSM. Her little West Hampstead flat is terrific, only I couldn’t sleep. I was like a time lapse film in a sleep lab. On my front, on my back, knees up, bum in the air, walking, hitting my head on the sloping ceiling, lying, sprawling, listening to my music, foetal, fatal. By the time the alarm went off at 7.30 I was panda eyed with sleep deprivation.
The trip to Waterloo was easy, LSM was carrying the new laptop and I was pulling a heavy red suitcase. Why I had packed so much rubbish is beyond me. She travelled with a toothbrush I with the bathroom sink.
Out of the tube up the escalator and my piggin shoelace got caught in the escalator step.
I fell flat, ripped my knee, halted the flow of Olympic commuters and felt like a complete pratt.
So began our journey to Axminster.

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