Thursday, 9 November 2017

Intimations of mortality

34 years since faither popped off.  26 years since Lagrasse piano festival friend Jonny Brown's followed suit.  Five years since Etienne was taken from us.  And today my friend Colin who signed on to the hobby with me has committed his son's remains.  I learned, on googling the other day, that my old friend Madame Billault made it to 103!  She and I first met in 1965 when my Dundee-Orléans twinning correspondent Bernard and I were wheeled off to Bretoncelles for a week.  I objected vigorously to the idea of camping at the side of the swimming pool that Bernard's cousin Marcel maintained, and Marcel negotiated a bedroom chez Billault for the duration.  I dropped in on her from time to time over the years, and she seemed inexplicably to welcome my company.  She spent a weekend with me at Tonbridge in the 80s: 'I shall be arriving at Southampton on xx/xx: come and collect me'.  A good, kind soul, and I'm a bit ashamed of not keeping in touch.

As well not to dwell on such things, but it's good to mark them quietly.  I guess we all have difficult memories at this time of year, but none so great as those who lost loved ones in the utterly futile war of 1914-19.  I shall lay a wreath on behalf of my co-hobbyists on Sunday.

Sonst?  A total failure today at art class.  I'd planned an acrylic resist piece using some new Indian ink.  I think I'd need to heave on the acrylics with a trowel to avoid the failure - the ink soaked into the acrylics, so the scouts' paper bin is the sole beneficiary.

More positively, we've stocked up the freezer with beef from Tidebrook Manor Farm, and treated ourselves to delicious griddled sirloins for supper.  Let's hear it for decadence!

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