Monday 13 February 2017

More Museum Tales.....

It is half term and the Brighton Darlings are spread far and wide. Daughter J and Tiger are walking along the Cotswold Way with a group of friends,, doing about 12 miles a day and probably covered in mud at this moment, but texts say `its lovely` Son in law D is on a Mindfulness Retreat in \Devon, Grand- daughter G went to Guernsey to play in a Rugby match, and grand son R frequently phones from Vietnam where he is teaching a class of 5 year olds. I enjoy hearing of all their adventures, but glad to be sitting at home on my sofa watching the squirrels. 

Many of my usual activities are on half term too, but not the Museum Tales creative writing course which has started up again. I am far and away the oldest, but I am enjoying the punk rock exhibition which is on at the moment.  It is 30 years since that burst upon the scene. My children were teenagers then but it strangely passed me by. We are bidden to write about Rebellion` and that appeals to me as I have always had a rebellious streak.

I am enjoying my afternoon working in the hospice charity shop and have more or less got the hang of the till now and only occasionally ring up a thousand pounds instead of ten pence.     I am so pleased when customers find a garment that really suits them or a book that I have read and recommended.   There is a lovely atmosphere among the helpers.

I am on one of my frequent trips to the Eye Hospital this afternoon, always a difficult manoevre as there are no buses from Ditchling to Brighton so I have to drive and hope that the drops in my eyes wear off quickly so that I can see to drive home.    I try not to mind the injections and they don`t hurt but there is something scary about having a needle stuck in your eyeball.  Still I am so lucky to get it done at all and I love the NHS and have always had wonderful treatment.

I have just read Everyone Brave is Forgiven by Chris Cleve and  found it an excellent read. It reminded me of when I was ten or eleven and living in North London during the Blitz, cowering in the cupboard under the stairs when the bomb fell outside our house. It did not explode and as far as I know it is still there.   We all had to go and live with a Mrs Tickle in the next road until it was declared safe.    But the book was about about the real horrors of the blitz and the war on the lives of ordinary people, and also of racist attitudes which were appalling. 
   
I have decided not to write about D.Trump or Brexit. It is all just too awful for words.