I'm still very woe begone. My bruised and battered face is a lot better, but that can't be said about the rest of me. I can barely move my arms, the shoulder on which I fell very heavily is extremely painful. But I need to gather all the strength I can muster to go into the City for a birthday present for Tim. I would jump in a taxi but they have this crazy system here whereby - even if said taxi is parked outside the building - I have to telephone and request it. I might just as well cross the road and jump on the bus.
I went to the monthly lunch at the church yesterday, and that was good. I had a great time but I haven't quite got used to our national cuisine yet. It was cottage pie and pear and ginger tart, with custard of course. I was thinking I would really have quite liked something Mexican, with all the heat removed, like my dear friend Jack would do for me at a church meal.
The speaker didn't turn up so a church member stepped in - a Welsh man from Aberfan - and gave us a fascinating talk on the Aberfan disaster he had witnessed as a child. I don't know why the church even looks outside for speakers, it's choc-a-bloc with members who have interesting stories to tell. I was 'entranced' at his story, his accent, I saw him on the way out and was gushing all the way up the road.
Aberfan is engraved on our national consciousness. It was a coal mining village and the National Coal Board - with total disregard of any health and safety consideration - piled the waste up on top of the hillside, and in 1996 it slid down on to a primary school at the bottom, killing 166 children and 28 adults.
While I was typing the above dear Tim stopped by and took me to an out-of-town shopping centre (like Walmart but better - with all due respect) and while I was tossing into the cart lobster mac and cheese, and little joints of lamb Tim was reminding me of the light bulbs and Ibuprofen, the prosaic stuff.
So it's time to unpack and put away all this stuff.
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