More Bed Time Notes.

Apparently there’s a law in Britain requiring foreign spouses of people domiciled here to demonstrate a minimum level of familiarity with English before they’re allowed to settle. I wonder whether it applies to Americans.

‘Refer to me as “y’all” once more, young woman, and you’re on the next boat back to Ellis Island.’

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I find both wealth and glamour tawdry, and so I never cease to be surprised that people aspire to such things.

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The first verse of Raglan Road, since it tugs the old familiarity strings.

On Raglan Road of an autumn day
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might one day rue
I saw the danger and I passed
Along the enchanted way
And said let grief be a fallen leaf
At the dawning of the day

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I hope Sarah won’t mind me mentioning that she has such a pretty nose. It was the first thing I noticed when I first met her walking the puppy dog Inca along Mill Lane about four years ago. Come to think of it, Inca has a rather pretty nose too. This is not, I assure you, an attempt to ingratiate myself into the prospect of being invited for coffee and mince pies.

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I seem to have the old CFS problem, or whatever it is, again tonight. It isn’t just the washed out feeling, it’s all the aches and pains and heart palpitations and feeling chilled and such like that come with it.

‘What sits on the sea bed and shivers?’

‘A nervous wreck.’

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Reading about the work of the Salvation Army upsets and angers me. Here are the unsung heroes going quietly about the business of helping those in need, while some of the greatest shits in society live ludicrously extravagant lifestyles and sit on more wealth than they could ever hope to spend. And the government gives them knighthoods and peerages in recognition of their contribution to party funds.

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I miss the Woman from America a lot. The wind of silence is an icy wind.

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Must be first into bed when the music stops.