to grow old like roy

On holiday for a week or so (that 'or so' being a vital 48 hours)! Feeling at a bit of a loose end and having to tell myself that I'm on holiday, nevertheless.

Saw these plums overhanging the wall of Broadwell churchyard when cycling this morning. This was the churchyard where I took a picture of the snow in late March.

Looking forward to some holiday reading. On the list are: finishing off second reading of Remembering Che, My Life with Che Guevara by Aleida March; Naples Declared, A Walk Around the Bay by Benjamin Taylor; Albert Angelo by BS Johnson; A Girl is a Half-formed Thing by Eimear McBride; The Murderer Said Shalom by Leonard Stein (who I met at Exeter College this summer and who gave me a copy of his book).

It's been quite a week trying to get everything done at the library and finishing the creative writing marking. It was also the week that the Kindle edition of A Conscious Englishman was published! Meanwhile, Margaret Keeping's reading at the Department for Continuing Education's Open Day is fully booked, as is my session, Fiction reader--fiction writer. Excellent sessions still have places available, though. A fantastic day in prospect!

Not all the week was spent working. Loved listening to one or two tracks from Slow Focus on the bus when I took a break. What an album!

The trip down to the pub late-ish last night after the work was done was meant to be a celebration of the start of the holiday, which it was, but this was tempered by the news of the death of Roy, a wonderful man, who made us feel so welcome when we moved here in 2001. He had been ill for a little while but the shock of hearing he had died was great. I don't think, however, that he would have wished for his many friends to be sad for too long. He was a man who seemed to enjoy every moment of each day and was fascinated by people. He had lived a long time but looked way younger than he was. He also appeared incredibly fit and agile, even when he was ill and we didn't know it. A dear man whose way of looking at the world drew your attention to new things, made you join with him in his humour and enriched you. If only I could grow old like that.