My last evening under Derry’s skies for the time being. The weather has been more than kind, and the craic has been good.
There are still a couple of bits of my washing drying on the line, but most things are in the bag. We went for a coffee at the new café at Upperlands and said for hours. If you are in the district do pop in, the coffee is great. There is also a working model of a beetling mill. Cousin, who spent a year working in the office at Clark’s Linen Factory, was saying that orders would come in asking for Upperlands finish, a particularly shiny linen, and the story was that this had come about by accident, with one man falling asleep and letting the linen go through the machine several times. I did take some pictures, but I shan’t download them now until I get home tomorrow night. Continue reading
In the last few weeks I’ve had quite a number of cards offering condolences for Mother’s death. There have been letters too, some handwritten personal ones, others official. Things have improved. I remember Mother bursting into tears when she got a letter saying my father’s council tax fee had been revised as he had died just seventeen days into the new financial year. The letter was blunt and cold. The formal letters now all open with condolences and the wording is careful.
However, I received one letter today that caught me by surprise. It opened with the usual formula, but instead of Mother’s name, I was condoled over the death of Mrs R, whose demise was a couple of weeks earlier than Mother’s. I checked the top of the letter, yes, it was definitely addressed to me. A mystery.
I called the number and got through to a man I shall call Ron. It’s not his real name, but it’ll serve. I explained the scenario and gave Ron the reference. He checked the details and found me listed as next of kin. I began to be intrigued; could this be a long lost relative who I should now never have the chance to meet. I said as much to Ron. He agreed it would be unlikely. Unlikely hardly seemed the adequate word, and I said so. “Maybe she left you a video,” he said. I was warming to Ron. I hadn’t expected humour from this ‘phone call, and here was an official entering into the spirit (that was an unintentional pun, but I’m leaving it there) of things.
It is only a matter of time before someone brings out a guide to bike racks in London. Maybe it’ll be a photographic anthology.
This is one of my favourites.
Notice the letters. They spell out the name of the borough. You’ll probably find it easier to read with this one. Continue reading