Yesterday I went to man the reception at the Brighton Meeting House as I often do on Saturdays,and there was a trombone concert on there, part of the Brighton Festival. What a wonderful contrast to the usual silent meeting! Of course there were not seventy six, but quite a lot and they made a lovely sound.
I have been away at Woodbrooke again, that Mecca of all Quakers, up in Birmingham. I had extraordinary journeys there and back. In all but one of the four train journeys, and four bus rides, my fellow travellers embarked on their life story without any encouragement from me. On the 73 bus from Euston to Victoria, a distinguished looking elderly woman begged me to join Dignity in Dying, thrusting phamphlets into my hands, on another, an actor learning his lines confided his hope and fears. Whoever said the British are reseved? The time at Woodbrooke as was good as ever. I tried not to look forward to the delicious food too much and concentrate on the course, which was learning how to be a Quaker Clerk which I am rather apprehensive about taking on.
I keep thinking I would love to spend a day at the seaside: sit on a deck chair on the beach, have an ice cream, go for a paddle,eat sandy sandwiches, but I never seem to have the time. I am very busy in my retirement.