It seems likely to me that most times I shall be talking to myself on this blog, which is a bit strange, so I hope somebody drops in and reads it, and responds.
Meanwhile, I am going to use the space to record the view from my window, the scene in our front garden, the books I'm reading, the work I'm doing, my hopes, fears and dreams.
It's a cold, grey morning here on the edge of the Yorkshire Moors, a few miles from the Ilkley Moor, from Haworth's Bronte Parsonage. Heather and I are off work until January 4th, so we can read lots, go for walks by the Leeds to Liverpool Canal, maybe shopping. Early on Christmas Day we gave each other little things in Christmas stockings, and after a treat cooked breakfast, Heather went to see her pony Dominic (he's a 28 year old Welsh-Arab cross foranyone who knows about ponies)to muck out, and around 12.30 we drove down to Lincoln to spend Christmas Day with her family - present giving, and at 3.00 p.m a traditional family dinner,roast turkey, potatoes, brussel sprouts, stuffing, cranberry sauce and all. After dinner, the older ones dozed in front of television, the younger ones (in their 20s and 30s, so not that young) played with some plastic disc gun, and some of us chatted in the kitchen, or wrapped up warm and sat talking outside. About 9.30 p.m Heather and I drove home, arriving about 11.30 p.m. Yesterday was a day for loafing about at home, reading, nibbling. Everything seems in a different perspective as the news bulletins talk of the tsunami and the rising death toll (over 17,000 as I write)- Sri Lanka, Thailand, Sumatra, these are places used by westerners as a holiday 'tropical paradise' destination. In reality, life there is fragile, and even if you've lived and worked in the Pacific Islands, and experienced small hurricanes, as I have, disaster on such a scale remains impossible to comprehend. That's my 'diary' entry for this morning, and maybe I'll just keep quiet for a few days now.
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