I am becoming a connoisseur of the eightieth birthday(or Golden Wedding) lunch. It is a wonderful stage of life, this, I go to beautiful parties and gaze round the room at old friends with their children, and grandchildren and at the same time I am fed with delicious food. A lovely one last Saturday in the Cotswolds, but the journeys there and back were hazardous on the M4 in the wind and rain, though I did see a perfect rainbow on the way there.
In the evening I went to a Quiz in the Parish Room next door. Why, I wonder, is it so satisfying to know the answer to a totally useless question when others do not? The supper there was good too.
Last week I went to see Bright Star, a film on the life of John Keats. I felt that it did not make JK quite lovable enough, he looked a bit grubby and seedy, but I loved it, and am still processing it in my mind.
Poor grand daughter Grace`s broken arm is an ongoing saga. She is on her fourth plaster (white red, purple etc She has taken at least one GSCE mock having been starved as her pinning operation has been planned for the afternoon. The docs keep changing their minds. What a palaver. She does not want to do any more horse riding. I am thankful.
I am off to Godfrey Heaven`s humanist funeral in a minute driving some elderly Quakes. He was a splendid ninety five year old with a great zest for life and won a poetry prize last year.