I suppose my other concession to it being a bank holiday was taking myself off to Philippa’s house for a few hours in the late afternoon. In my honour, Deia and Dylan had made some scones, and we sat around the table eating delicious cream teas with fresh strawberries. One of the things I love most about Philippa’s house is that there’s always someone else there. Today it was a chap called Josh who I’ve not seen in years. People pop in, share a bit of communal food, do their own thing for a while, play with Deia, chat with the Dylan and Philippa, drink a glass of wine or a cup of tea, and then drift off again. It reminds me very much of the commune in Bedfordshire we used to frequent as children, which was run by a lady called Liza. There was always something going on there as well; kiln-building parties, cider vinegar drinking competitions, CND meetings...
My goddaughter continues to delight and amuse. The highlight of the day was discovering what her toy giraffe was called. “Guess,” she said. “Um... Lanky?” I replied. “No," said Deia. “Gemma?” “No” “Gary?” “No.” Philippa called across the kitchen, “you’ll never guess...” “Okay,” I said, “I give in, what’s your giraffe called?” “Technique” said Deia. Technique?!! In fairness, this is a child with a rabbit called Jumping Song, but Technique surely has to be amongst the strangest names for a cuddly toy I’ve ever encountered, and I had a stuffed sheep called Sexy when I was a child!
350 years ago, Pepys was told all about a famine in France, which the history books don’t seem to be able to corroborate. The rest of the day was spent in the Navy office discussing victualling with two Sir Williams and a Sir George.
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