‘John and Margaret were the parents of this second John, who was married to Sarah. And the third John was the son of the second John (and his wife Sarah) and died as a baby. And Thomas was the second John’s brother.’
It didn’t. I had to work it out in my head, and that pleased me because I thought my left brain had atrophied during the photography and writing years. Seems it still works, so that’s OK.
* * *
Tonight I had one of those episodes I sometimes get during which I’m convinced that something important and exciting is about to happen. Only it never does. That’s my intuition failing me. That’s my right brain faltering.
You can’t win, can you?
* * *
The bluebells are more rampant than ever in the wood at the top of the lane.
I made friends with a very handsome horse today.
A dog with attitude watched me suspiciously as I walked along Mill Lane.
HT54 was home.
I discovered that people driving vans are given to assuming that they have more right to the road than you do, and if they run you over it’s your fault for not getting out of the way.
I realised that I’m becoming ever more intolerant of anything I regard as sordid – and you know who’s to blame for that, don’t you?
Zoe’s dark New England voice, redolent of molasses with no added sugar (which makes ‘Jeffrey’ sound like an accusation) echoed in the chancel of the 14th century church. Somebody called her ‘dear.’ So very English.
I made one of those up, which indicates that my right brain is functioning (up to a point) after all. Life goes on.