So, Monday and a to do list. I have not had a working landline since Thursday. What, are you thinking, is this an old post? surely this is something that happened in October. Yup. TalkTalk strikes again, and again customer service has been found wanting. After acknowledging the problem, and promising to be in touch they weren’t. I sent daily messages, which were ignored. So finally and reluctantly I faced the online chat support.
Two hours later and with my stomach rumbling, an appointment for an engineer to come on Wednesday afternoon was arranged. Then an hour and a half after that an email saying the visit would be on Thursday morning, which I had already said I could not do. Another half hour online, the appointment rearranged, though I see no email confirm this so I am more than a little disbelieving. It is amazing how life sucking these exchanges are.
However, I did get ten more cards written and posted, a box of bits handed into the charity shop, a jigsaw bought for Charlie for Christmas, and some other gifts sorted. Not Celia’s. Or at least only half Celia’s. I am sure I had her Christmas present organised, but I can only find half a present for her in the cupboard, and I have no idea what the other half was. So I have been thinking, and I believe I can get a good other half. I know Celia reads this, so I am not saying more, though I should alert her to the fact that Charlie’s present is from the charity shop, and only after I had paid for it did I think to ask if it had been checked to make sure it is complete. It hasn’t. I have the receipt, so if he finds pieces are missing, could you let me know please Celia?
Back to our walk yesterday.
We set off from home just after three. Already the sun was starting to sink. it was cold but dry with no wind. We strode through the little park to Kennington Park Road then onto Vauxhall.
The river looked cold and beautiful, with pink streaks from the sky reflected in the water. This was where the Cockerpoo took a shine to Celia. Then over the bridge and left to Tate Britain.
Don’t tell me art is a dispensable extra, a frippery optional thing. Dozens of people were there. All happy, all enjoying it. It drew the crowds. Art and culture are necessities, just as love and food and warmth are. You can see people expand, relax, grow. I think of Mother, deep in her dementia, responding to poetry, holding my hand and squeezing it to the rhythm of the words, turning to me as I read to her like a flower turning its face to the sun. Man cannot live by bread alone. Nor woman.
I have more pictures, and I think this probably merits a post of its own. My favourite was the tiger, burning bright just across the river from where Blake lived.
If I had that tiger I think I would be a very happy person.
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