PC 384 The Man In The Window

When you live in an urban environment it’s pretty certain you will have a view of your neighbours. East across Albany Villas from us is No 17 and to the left of the front door is an apartment.

In its right-hand window, its occupier has his desk in the bay. He obviously works from home and, whilst we’re not in the habit of staring, curiosity informs us roughly of his daily habits. We have no idea what he does but think he might be a day-trader; always there, regular as clockwork. Whilst we can see in a little …..

          ……. I am not sure whether he can see into our living room as the windows in Amber House have a sheen that provides some privacy. Maybe I should ask him? The room he could look into is our ‘living’ room in the true sense of the word; it’s roughly 5 metres by13 metres and here we cook, eat, work and relax ie ‘live’!

That’s our living room to the left of the front door

Would it matter if he did?

          Our Monday – Friday routine sees us leaving the apartment for yoga at 0915, to walk up to the bus stop. We sometimes lift a hand in acknowledgement as we see his face at the window and aren’t concerned that he never does the same.

Most of us, I suggest, are mildly curious to see into another building, whether it be a modern office block and you imagine what the workers are doing ….. “Oh! Look! Someone’s giving a presentation!” and my mind goes back to a similar event, whether I was giving the presentation or sitting through someone else’s ….. or somewhere where people live and you catch a glance of an xx or a yy or a zz. When does this mild curiosity become an obsession? Many people have voyeuristic tendencies but are unwilling to acknowledge them for fear of being discovered. Ah! These secrets we keep to ourselves. Is it a disorder being a voyeur? Well, there is no particular cause but some risk factors like alcohol misuse and abuse are often quoted in the development of an obsession.

A voyeur featured in the British television psychological thriller ‘The Couple Next Door’, written by David Allison and based on a Dutch series ‘New Neighbours’. A young couple move into a cul-du-sac and are immediately befriended by a couple across the green, who are swingers and like to engage in extra-marital sex. This is the main thread of the drama but a minor storyline concerns Alan, a peeping tom played by Hugh Dennis, who uses a telescope in his upstairs den to spy on the couple. Alan’s become increasingly lonely as he contemplates his own mortality and has nothing to say to his wife of many decades. Instead he scans the house across the street, projecting himself into a fantasy world in which he is king!

By definition, a peeping tom (Note 1) is a person who derives sexual pleasure from secretly watching people undressing or engaging in sexual activity. Legend has it that a tailor called Tom was the only person to watch the naked Lady Godiva as she rode through the streets of Coventry in 1040, so gaining a remission on harsh taxes imposed by her husband, Leofric, the Earl of Mercia.   

If you think Alan’s behaviour is not normal, reflect on the issue at Tate Modern in London a few years ago. About the same time as a 360° viewing gallery was opened on the 10^th floor of the Blavatnik Building, wealthy residents moved into the NEO Bankside building just to the southwest of the Tate, where a penthouse could cost over £20 million.

Visitors were mesmerised by what they could see in these apartments through the huge windows, some posting the results of their snooping on Instagram! Residents complained of being waved at and being forced to keep blinds down. So many visitors enjoyed the view into other people’s private living spaces that the artist Max Siedentopf installed a dozen binoculars. “No other artwork on display attracts as much fascination as these open-plan apartments.” (Ed. A great example of ‘living art’?)

After a High Court case in 2019 which ruled in favour of The Tate, which is in itself interesting (!), the residents appealed and in October 2023 the UK’s Supreme Court ruled, by 3 to 2, that The Tate was liable if its visitors caused a nuisance. The viewing platform is no longer 360° but 270°!

Minor voyeurism is often used in films. Some of you will have watched the wonderful Hitchcock’s production ‘Rear Window’. OK! It came out in 1954 but is such a classic it’s been broadcast hundreds of times since. A professional photographer played by James Stewart has a broken leg. Physically constrained, he whiles away his time by spying on his neighbours through his apartment’s rear window. However his innocent habit turns serious when he witnesses an apparent murder.

Then there is Paula Hawkins’ ‘The Girl on the Train’ that uses the same idea to tell her story. Every day Rachel Watson takes the train into work in New York and every day the train passes her old house, which is now lived in by her ex-husband, his new wife and child. Not wanting to focus on where she used to live, she starts watching a couple who live a few doors down, Megan & Scott Hipwell. Emily Blunt is Rachel in the 2016 film.

Thinking of the chap across my street reminded me of the American comedian Shelley Berman (1925 – 2017) and his Department Store skit (Note 1). In summary he notices someone in trouble outside a window in the department store across the street from his office and the tale unfolds as he calls the department store:

Eventually someone answers:

“You don’t know me but I work in the office building right across the street….

“No, south west …… and there’s a woman hanging from the window ledge on the 10^th floor.”

“No, I don’t wish to speak to her, I want someone to drag her in …

“Can I describe her? There’s only one woman hanging by her fingernails from a window ledge …… OK Could you put me through to that department please?”

“Complaints Department? …….

Etc etc

I wonder what the chap across my street would make of this postcard?

Richard 26^th April 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk         

Note 1 Not to be confused with Matthew Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury, 1559 – 1575 who had a reputation for prying into the affairs of others – he acquired the nickname Nosey Parker

Note 2 Available on You Tube – The Department Store.

In The Hope Café in January (PCs 368 and 369) Sami, Mo and I were ruminating (Note 1) about trashy novels and how different writers can produce such contrasting prose. Of course it’s like any creative aspect of life, of composing music, writing plays or songs, painting in oils or in acrylics, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Every human endeavour has those who do it well and those who do it adequately, some perfectionists, some producers who create for the popular market and some who simply get by. I tend to believe I am in the latter category although often the judge is oneself! I was described as ‘autodidactic’ last month; I had to look up its meaning!

At its most basic, a sentence can simply be a subject, a verb and an object. For instance:

“The cow jumped over the moon.”

Nice and clear: an animal we identify as a cow jumped, that is lifted itself off the ground, over the moon, a lump of rock that orbits the earth once every twenty-four hours and immediately we think this is impossible! This is fairytale stuff, a nursery rhyme if nothing else! So we smile and move on. Those of you with good memories will be able to chant the complete nursery rhyme:

“Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such fun, and the dish ran away with the spoon.”  

This particular rhyme goes back a long way and its origin is complicated; Dutch priests in the C16th get a mention but it’s more likely to have originated in the wonder of the constellations in ancient Egypt and the worship of Hathor. Hathor was the mother of the sky god Horus and Ra, the sun god. She’s often depicted wearing a headdress of cow horns with a sun disk between them. In the constellations Lyra is the fiddle, Taurus the cow and Canis minor the dog, (See PS).

The Egyptian god Hathor

How Hathor worship, which I imagine was quite a serious business, transforms down the centuries into a mostly cartoon characterisation of a cow jumping over the moon is bewildering! It’s possible of course that someone actually saw a cow skip and that lined up with the reflection of a full moon in a pond; it caught their imagination.  

Take that initial sentence and embellish it. “The two-year-old British Holstein cow, quite a popular black & white breed here in the United Kingdom and renowned for its milk, leather and beef, was called Mathilda. Showing off to others in the herd, she jumped into the sky, with a little skip and a flourish, and lifted herself up and up. So she thought; in reality her udders were full of milk and she barely made it off the ground. “But it’s good to dream,” she thought “and I like showing off. You know I’m the comedian in the cow shed? Well, I think I could jump over the moon. Don’t you?”

Or ….

“My name is Angus and I am a professional photographer. I have worked on a number of leading nature programmes and the other day was asked to produce a photograph of a cow jumping over a full moon. Everyone is aware of the nursery rhyme and my photograph was needed for a poster for a new museum of fables and nursery rhymes in Manchester. I think this is a great idea as these historical tales have so much to teach us, at many levels. But in the back of my mind was a warning from my agent; “Angus! Never accept work involving animals.”

“I knew better, didn’t I. Apart from family pets I had been out on a horse a few times …… and they’re the same sort of size as a cow, aren’t they?

Fortunately, I know a dairy farmer down in Devon, so I called him and asked if I could come and take some pictures of a cow. Clearly it would need to be during the next full moon, which wasn’t due for a few days. I booked into a local B&B for a couple of nights, knowing that I needed to plan for the unexpected. The weather forecast was quite good for what I wanted, a relatively cloudless sky and out in the countryside there would be little light pollution. I planned to get into a hollow in one of the fields and have the cow up on top of a hillock, not far from its barn.

Brian chose Mathilda, a two-year-old British Holstein, brought her out and led her up to the hillock. We had discussed how we were going to get Mathilda to jump and reckoned the crack of a Thunderflash, a training pyrotechic, would do – although Brian worried that Mathilda might not produce milk for a few days afterwards!

Picture me then, in the hollow, my camera on a tripod, in the dark, looking at the full moon as it appeared above the horizon. Brian’s still had hold of Mathilda’s harness when, by mistake, he let off the Thunderflash. Two things happened simultaneously. I was startled, tumbled backwards and fell into something warm and smelly, but not before I saw Brian being dragged off the hillock by a very upset Mathilda.

“Could always Photoshop it, Angus?” said Brian when things were more under control. “Take a f**king photo of the full moon and one of Mathilda, superimpose one over the other …..”

“….. and ‘Bob’s my uncle?’ I thought but Brian’s challenge to my professionalism was not without merit …… and I think the result’s OK. What do you think?”

You know what, Angus? I’m over the moon! Perfect – tickled pink even.

Richard 19^th April 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS A French astronomer Jerome Lalande called one constellation Felix. As a cat lover he was sorry there was none named after a cat, although there are two lion constellations and one lynx. It was 1799.

Note 1 Ruminating seems an appropriate word here

After talking to Josh almost exclusively last time I was here in The Hope, I thought I should try potluck and find out who was in on Tuesday. Josh himself was behind the counter, on his own and very busy although, while I was ordering a double espresso, I quickly said:

“You know I write a weekly blog, my postcard scribbles as I call them?”

“Er? I think so ……”

“Well, someone read the one where I reiterated what you had said about your time in Israel and they said: ‘Great reporter style, concise. Fun read with an undertone of serious analysis peppered with humour. So many more questions brought up and that could be further explored.’ ”

“Yes! Richard. So many questions and few with any meaningful answers that will bring about peace. Whilst I felt I had to go and ‘do my bit’, I get incensed that, for instance, some elements in Israel think building their own settlements in the Palestinian West Bank is OK, despite being illegal – and no one does anything to stop them. Sorry, I could go on and on but I need to attend to my customers. See you next time maybe?”

Lisa is sitting by herself and looks up as I pick up my cup, so I join her. 

“You’re looking pleased with yourself. Why so?”

“Well, a month ago, I started my 16^th year of trying to do OK practising the Classic 26/2 Hot Yoga sequence. What a journey! The names of the teachers are scattered across my memory like confetti; Paul, Jasmin, Simi, Olga, Richard, Raj, Sanjay, Ted, Sam amongst them …. and currently Simon and BA.”

“Amazing! And I remember you saying that you’d met Celina in the Balham studio! Wow! Incidentally we all know Sami wants to move on from how his life was turned upside down by what’s become known as the Post Office Scandal, but he was watching the TV news the other evening and an item brought it all back. Another local sub postmaster, Sami Sabet, was being interviewed, saying he was rejecting the offer of £600k. He was wrongly convicted of stealing £50,000 in 2009 and given a 12-month suspended sentence. He owned three POs in Portslade and Shoreham and reckons he paid the PO more than £100k. He’s had a heart attack, developed type two diabetes, and has PTSD. Feel so sorry for all of them.”

“I read there was some secret report indicating they knew that Horizon engineers could remotely change figures in a Post Office account without anyone knowing, but for two years continued to prosecute and deny it. The then CEO, Vennells, told MPs: “I need to say it’s not possible.”, knowing full well it was! More to come no doubt!”

“Richard, I need to have a chat with Robert, so if you don’t mind ……”

Robert’s a lonely figure at a counter, tapping away at his laptop. Apparently he’s split up with his partner and his life is not much fun. Pleased to see Lisa doing something to encourage him.

I see Mo at one of the bench seats; she beckons me over.

“You were in the army, Richard, weren’t you? And you spent some time in Northern Ireland?

“Yes! I was and I did. (See PCs 196, 197 & 198). When troops were committed to aid the police in 1969, I was on a yacht in The Baltic and about to go to university. I genuinely thought I might miss it. No one imagined then it would roll on for 30 years.”

“Did you see that Rose Dugdale had died?”

“Remind me who she was, Mo? The name is stirring the muddy memory.”

“Born into an extremely privileged life, she rebelled and, in distancing herself from her parents, particularly from her mother, at 31 she joined the provisional IRA. To raise funds, she and her boyfriend carried out the theft of some Old Masters from Russborough House in County Antrim in 1974, owned by friends of Dugdale’s parents. She was sentenced to nine years in prison.”

“Ah! Yes! That woman, another upper-class nationalist and republican like, for instance, Erskine Childers and Roger Casement. Wasn’t Dugdale responsible for making many IRA bombs, notably one for the Baltic Exchange attack in London in 1992; three people died and 91 were injured? There will always be those who feel so passionate about their cause that, right or wrong, they firmly believe the end justifies the means, but I wonder whether she could have looked in the eye those who had lost loved ones, had their lives torn apart by injury and trauma and say it was for a good cause?”

“Probably not! Now, what else is happening? I hear Kate has gone back to her bus driving; we’ll miss her!

“Indeed she has and, yes, we’ll miss her. Do you remember one of my PCs, No 371 ‘Driving Along’ from January 2024, about my daughter meeting me at the Cobham Service Station before Christmas? Well, in The Sunday Times on 4^th February 2024 there was a fascinating article about some incompetent ‘detectorists’ who found gold jewellery and coins buried in a field since 878, thought to be worth some £10m. They didn’t follow any of the established procedures, didn’t report the find, and ended up with lengthy prison sentences. As part of their efforts to fence the coins, one of them met an antique coin collector and his wife in a secluded corner of the Costa coffee shop at the M25 Cobham service station. I read this and it reinforced the thought; we have no idea what is going on around us!”

“That’s funny! I was reading that higher wages and rising coffee bean prices are driving up the cost of a cup of coffee by 30%. I must have a word with Duncan to see how he’s coping. I expect he’ll put off developing the idea of a bookshop next door until after the General Election, don’t you think?”

……. to be continued.

Richard 12^th April 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Here in the United Kingdom we don’t have national Identity Cards, although most would argue we do by default! It’s an issue at the heart of libertarians, wishing the State has a rather light hand on our personal lives. (See Denis Macshane’s view from Wednesday’s Times) (Note 1). Why should someone know how old I am? Apparently, some people don’t want others to know, but if you drive it’s not a State Secret! Rather clumsily, the Driving & Vehicle Licensing Authority (DVLA), responsible for issuing driving licences, got around the problem with its format of one’s Driving Licence number!

For example, my identification/driving licence number is:

‘YATES410246RC8CS 37’. My birthday is 24.10. 46, hidden (?) between the ‘S’ and the ‘R’. The year wraps the month and the day. If you hadn’t realised this, I am sure you’re going to check your own driving licence?!

My regular readers will remember that at the end of last year I embarked on a medical MOT. As part of this review, I had to have a couple of day-surgeries in local hospitals, one the Montefiore here in Hove and the other the Nuffield hospital in Woodingdean (Note 2), which lies to the east of Brighton and has stunning views over the English Channel.

Being a day-patient requires inter alia two things. One is to accept the white plastic wristband that carries useful information, your hospital ID if you like; name, date of birth, patient identification number, possibly your address or postcode and the name of one’s consultant. The second is to resign oneself to the fact that every time the bell rings, someone will ask you for your date of birth and postcode. Even the chap from the catering department with his smart iPad ready to take my order for lunch had to ask: “just confirm your date of birth and postcode?” Not sure who else might have been sitting in a chair with DVT socks and a backless gown – apart from me?

At some point within one of the hospitals I went to a waiting room and interrogated the complicated coffee machine to get a double espresso. Was I imagining it when I heard a computer-generated voice from within the machine ask: “Date of birth and postcode please.”?

I am not sure I had any identification number until I signed up for military service in August 1965, in the nearest Army Recruitment Office to my parent’s house in Balcombe, here in Brighton. My soldier’s number was 24067711 and, although it was superseded by an officer’s number when I was commissioned, it remains on the tip of my tongue.  

Part of the prompt to write about identification was reading the obituary of Josette Molland (1923-2024), who survived the inhuman Nazi concentration camps and illustrated her experiences through her art. She probably had a number tattooed on her wrist as well.

During my two operational tours in Northern Ireland I was required to wear a set of ‘dog tags’ (Note 3) around my neck. In addition to my name, obviously, they had my Army officer’s number, in this case 484065, my blood group, O Positive, and my declared religion – CS standing for Church of Scotland.

Made of metal, they clanked together; not good if you were on some operation which required stealth! Most were therefore covered with duct tape! There was probably some regulation about their use in the event of their owner being killed; ie one with the body, one to the file, but one never wanted to find out!

I still have my Army ID card, albeit a ‘reserve’ one and that reserve commitment lapsed when I turned 55. Many years ago I was in Copenhagen on business and a friend was going to Malmo on the ferry in Sweden (Note 4). I thought I would go with them, but my passport was back in the hotel. So I chanced it by just waving my ID card. There and back; no problem!

Celina gifted me a haircut with Simon Webster, a skilled hairdresser with a salon in the North Laines in Brighton. Such a pleasure to be pampered occasionally and Simon’s a lovely character. As you do, we chatted about this and that and he revealed something fascinating. Returning to the UK after a holiday in Portugal, he tried the ‘Face Recognition’ Passport machine at Gatwick Airport. It didn’t work and, after a second attempt, he reluctantly joined the queue to present his passport to a human. Simon asked the Border Force individual why his passport always failed using the Face Recognition software. The answer’s amazing:

“Someone with the same name has a criminal record, so we will always do a physical check on your identity.”

 “But my face is my face! Surely those biometric details are unique to me?”

Apparently ‘the rules are the rules’.

In PC 134 I scribbled about a week in Sicily, the largest Mediterranean island. My memories of our time there are tainted by the experience of getting our Avis hire car when we first arrived, around 2000. Eventually finding the outside cabin that was their office, on opening the door we were confronted by some ten would-be renters like us. One agent was on duty; ‘take a number and wait’. We took an identity number, 69, and immediately did the maths; we were in for a wait of 90 minutes or more as currently they were dealing with ‘55’! Very fortunately a couple has taken two numbers and, having successfully hired their Fiat, gave us their spare – 60! Still, it was almost midnight when we arrived at our apartment south of Syracuse.

In Brazil they have a CPF (Cadastro de Pessoas Fisicas – Natural Persons Register) with its 11-digit number issued by the Brazilian Inland Revenue service. If you want to purchase anything more than your normal groceries, you have to present your CPF, making it pretty much essential for life in Brazil. Brazilians also must carry a traditional ID card, complete with a photograph and date of birth.

Richard 5^th April 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS EU countries will not accept a passport issued more than ten years ago.

Note 1 “ID cards are the key to knowing who is in this country.” https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/12144546-2b16-4e3f-9b85-08e66307aeb2?shareToken=48334f5b085167a7abc7487cd64b7113

Note 2 Spelt dean, but originally in old English ‘dene’, it’s a common name for a valley and frequently found as a compound to place names. To the east of Brighton are Rottingdean, Ovingdean, Saltdean and Woodingdean. Two of the city’s northern suburbs are called Coldean and Withdean.

Note 3 The UK Armed Forces refer to them as Identity Discs but ‘dog tags’, the American term, is almost universal.

Note 4 This was before the long, beautiful bridge that now spans the Oresund was built. 

I have always been reasonably observant and notice, among other things, those who write with their left hand and the differing ways in which they hold their pen. Writing of course may be a dying art and you may remember that some schools in Finland are experimenting with not teaching cursive script. Presumably this would mean that in future you would sign a document, say, with, er, a cross?! We are probably all becoming a little ambidextrous when it comes to more frequent use of a keyboard – exercising one’s digits and becoming able to enter data with either hand. Those of you who are left-handed when it comes to writing could tell me whether it makes any difference when you are using a keyboard?

Do you remember the successful 2011 film ‘One Day’ staring Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess? It was based on David Nicholls’ book which had come out a couple of years earlier. In February this year Netflix’s version was available, starring Ambika Mod, the actor who played the junior doctor in ‘This is Going to Hurt’, as Emma and Leo Woodall as Dex. Maybe I am being a bit nerdy here, but did you notice that both actors are left-handed?

As is one of the opticians in our local Boots, Emma.

“I hope you don’t mind but I notice you’re left handed; I am always interested to see how individuals hold their pen.”

She explained one thing I hadn’t realised, that if you use a fountain pen or felt tip, it’s possible the fleshy edge of your hand gets dirty from contact with the ink ….. as its direction of travel is over the still-drying ink. She held up her hand by way of confirmation!

Do right-handed people always answer a telephone with their right hand and left- handed with their left? I continue to be amazed that so often you see someone, a right-handed person, on TV only capable of using the telephone, placed on the right of the desk, with their right ear. If they want to jot down something, they transfer the phone to their left ear, almost strangling themselves in the process!  It’s actually the same for a cordless mobile; it’s much easier if you get into the habit of putting the phone to your left ear in the first place. (See PC 228 Thinking Out Loud April 2021.)

Driving on the left hand side of the road is something almost exclusively done by past members of the British Empire and now of The Commonwealth; for example Cyprus, New Zealand and Australia. The Republic of Eire, Ireland, drives on the left, reflecting its past linkage to England. Nigeria, a member of the Commonwealth but surrounded by countries that had been French colonies which drove on the right, changed from left to right in 1972. There was a rumour that certain car registration numbers would change one weekend, and the balance the following weekend; it was just a wind-up! India drives on the left, but not Pakistan, another Commonwealth country, even though they have a land border. Mind you if you have ever driven in rural India, you will have experienced both those who drive on the left and those who drive on the same road, on the right; very disconcerting!

I wondered why soldiers take the first step in a march with their left foot. Apparently it started in ancient Egypt; it’s the side of the body that your heart’s on and therefore your first step is taken with what your heart symbolises: “The heart, like the sun, is the central source of life, the seat of power, of courage and strength.” To avoid confusion, this is not the same as ‘by the right … quick march.’ The ‘right’ in this case refers to the side which is keeping the line; it could be ‘by the centre’ or even ‘by the left’.

Dressing ‘by the right’

I googled why we have ended up with left wing and right wing as definitions in our politics. We have the French to thank. At a pivotal point in the French Revolution in 1789, National Assembly members were asked to divide; those supporting the ‘Ancien Régime’ to line up to the right of the president and those supporters of the revolution to his left. Most democracies have examples of left-leaning liberal and conservative right-wing ideologies. On the extreme right of the political spectrum is Fascism, an authoritarian, ultra-nationalistic political ideology characterised by dictatorial leadership and suppression of an opposition.

Our brains are essentially two semi-hemispheres. The left is associated with logic, analytical thinking and language processing; ‘left-brained’ people pay attention to details and are ruled by logic. The right is linked with creativity, intuition and holistic thinking. ‘Right-brained’ people tend to do well in careers that involve creative expression and free-thinking, such as becoming an artist, psychologist or writer. Recent research suggests however that, whilst the two hemispheres function differently, they work together and compliment each other. Bundles of nerve fibres tie the two together creating some form of information highway!  

The words ‘left’ and ‘right’ are translated in Portuguese as ‘esquerda’ and ‘direita’, in German as ‘links’ and ‘rechts’, in Spanish as ‘izquierdo’ and ‘derecho’, in Italian as ‘sinistra’ and ‘destra’ and in French as ‘gauche’ and ‘droite’. I love the way that ‘left’ in Italian sounds like ‘sinister’ in English and the unintended connection to left-wing politics. In French the word for ‘left’ has another meaning, one who’s clumsy and awkward. It could be that left-handed people might appear awkward trying to manager in a mostly right-handed world or perhaps because right-handed people appear awkward when trying to use their left hand. Anyway, it’s a nice word to describe someone who’s unsophisticated and socially awkward: “a shy and gauche teenager.”

In the western world we probably forget that traditionally Arabs eat and drink with their right hand, as it’s believed that the devil would eat with his left. If you are left handed, you need to learn to use your right for eating and for handshakes. And the left hand is exclusively used for wiping your ……

Right?

Richard 29^th March 2024
Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Those of us of a certain age will have heard of Arthur Conan Doyle’s fictional character Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick Dr Watson, who first appeared in his novel ‘A Study in Scarlet’ in 1887. He went on to write four books and 56 short stories about the two crime fighters, with worldwide success. Tourists still come to London to visit 221b Baker Street, the site of the office where they worked and now the sight of The Sherlock Holmes Museum. I am not sure I ever read any of the books but by a process of osmosis know that the series ended with Sherlock Holmes’ death near, I think, near some cataract in, er, Switzerland? Google provided me with confirmation, which I paraphrase:  

“Sherlock Holmes’ constant foe is a Professor Moriarty, a successful criminal mastermind. In the final drama, Holmes, ignoring the fact that Moriarty has vowed to kill him, delivers appropriate evidence to the police, so Moriarty and those who operate his network will face justice in a few days. Holmes flees to Switzerland and Watson joins him. Moriarty follows and confronts Holmes at the top of a cataract known as the Reichenbach Falls. After some vicious hand-to-hand combat occurring at the cliff edge near the waterfall, both men fall to their deaths.

“Cataract n. 1. Waterfall, especially large precipitous fall or series of falls. 2. Progressive opacity of lens of eye which impairs one’s vision and, if left untreated, leads to blindness.” Note 1

The highest waterfall in the world is the Angel Falls in Venezuela, the fall a staggering 979 metres.

In 2015 Celina and I were lucky enough to visit Las Cataratas del Iguazú on the borders of Brazil and Argentina, staying on the appropriately named Belmond Hotel da Cataratas (see PC 51 Foz!)

You may remember the joke that went around the school playground:

The biology teacher asked her class: “Which organ of the human body increases tenfold when stimulated?” One rather prudish girl in the front row, Mary, said: “Miss, you shouldn’t be asking a question like that. I am going to tell my parents and you’ll be in trouble.” Ignoring her, she asked the question again and Billy at the back said: “It’s the pupil of the eye, Miss.” Turning to Mary, the teacher said: “As for you, young lady, I have three things to say. One, you obviously have a dirty mind; two, you didn’t do the set homework and three, one day you are going to be very disappointed.”

My step-grandfather Tommy Tizzard was a well-respected ophthalmic surgeon in Bath and had his consulting room on the ground floor of Number 15, The Royal Crescent. It was off-limits to a seven-year-old but a quick peep revealed cabinets full of optical equipment and trays of lenses. I have to assume in amongst his other skills was the removal of a cataract, as the modern cataract procedures were first pioneered in 1747 by Frenchman Jacques Daviel.  

Old people start talking about cataracts. “I’m having my cataracts done.” In much the same way they say: “I’m having my hips replaced.”, but until you’re in need yourself, it’s just something old people do! I hope to demystify the process, although accept that for some sensitive people anything to do with operating on one’s eye is too much information.

I had been short sighted for ever and worn contact lenses since 1969 when I wanted to sail and be able to see – salt water on glasses is a complete no-no. Aware that I had growing cataracts, the situation came to a head in October last year when the local optician said he couldn’t prescribe glasses until my cataracts has been removed.

I couldn’t better this little series of diagrams of what happens:

The Optegra Eye Hospital in Brighton is taking NHS patients to reduce the current 5 months NHS backlog so, after the appropriate checks, I had my first operated on before Christmas. Very straight forward, lots of anaesthetic drops in the eye, onto the operating chair, stare at a very white light and five minutes later done. Here in the UK there’s a standard 8 weeks between the first and the second eye operations but I know in Turkey, for instance, if you go private, they will do both eyes at the same time.

After the cloudy lens had been removed and a clear one inserted, the outer surface seals together very quickly but for 12 hours or so the eyelid’s interaction with its microscopic bumpy surface is discomforting. It was only after I’d had the second one done I realised how my balance had been affected by effectively being only one-eyed for eight weeks!

There’s a certain conveyor-belt feel about the clinic, inevitable I guess as there’s a repetitive nature to what they do, but each person is treated with great care and attention and nothing seemed too much trouble. Given that they deal almost exclusively with the elderly, I am sure at times their patience is tested, but to their great credit it doesn’t show.

Cataracts also interfere with the way you interpret colour. Everything might start to look like an old Polaroid or one of those sepia-tinted photos. This happens because the deteriorating proteins in your lenses can become yellowed or brown-ish. The difference ante and post operation was absolutely stunning! What happened three hundred years ago when one’s eyes developed cataracts? I guess you slowly went blind; how blessed we are with these commonplace operations.

I wrote to Optegra after my second operation:

“Thank you for my new vision, thank you for your professionalism and thank you for changing the outlook of those fortunate to be your patients.”

And to end on a note of amusement, when Holmes and Watson were on a camping trip, Holmes woke Watson in their tent in the middle of the night and asked him to look up and tell him what he saw.

“I see millions of stars, Holmes.”

“And what do you conclude from that, Watson?”

Watson talked for a few minutes about the universe, distant galaxies and how God is all-powerful. He then asked Holmes what it told him.

“Watson, you idiot! Someone has stolen our tent!”

Richard 22^nd March 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Cataracts on the surface of the eye’s lens cause increasingly fuzzy and cloudy vision, like looking through a tumbling waterfall.

I thought I should catch up with Josh while his experiences of his time in Israel are still fresh in his mind. Mind you, given the fact he was wounded, I suspect they will forever be just below the surface of his memory. He and Libby are behind the counter and Libby’s happy to let him come and chat so, grabbing a couple of coffees, we find a secluded corner table.

“It’s good to see you back, Josh, relatively in one piece! I hadn’t imagined you would have travelled to Israel in November until Duncan told me. Why did you go? You know we had a candle on the counter while you were away?”

“Yah! Luke told me. You know I’d never thought about my Ukrainian grandparents much, not interested in where they had come from – well, not until they had both died and then I rued the day I hadn’t spoken to them more. I had no idea about their lives in Lyviv and why they fled to Britain. You’re old enough to remember the 1988 hit The Living Years aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. No idea who sang it …..”

“Mike & the Mechanics ….”

“Ah! Yes! But you’re thinking about those poignant lines ‘it’s too late when we die’ to regret not asking the questions, although the song was more about a relationship with one’s father!”

“Exactly! Well, I felt I had to do something after the horrific Hamas assault on kibbutz in October, me and many other members of the Jewish diaspora. After some very difficult conversations with Luke, I reported to the London embassy in early November and before I knew it, I was in Israel, in uniform and in the midst of some extremely intensive training, mostly about weapon handling and survival. I don’t think they intended to use those of us who had absolutely no military experience anywhere but in static observation posts!!”

“You were up on the border with Lebanon?”

“Yes – not that the Lebanese have any say in what happens there; completed dominated by Iran’s proxy Hezbollah.”

“I was within a month of being commissioned at The Royal Military Academy when Israel launched its assault on Egypt, Jordan and Syria in what’s now called The Six Day War (5-10 June 1967). That’s when they annexed The Golan Heights in the north.” Note 1

“I never knew Richard you were in the Army. How long did you serve?”

“Almost twenty years! I left before you were born! Actually in my company at Sandhurst we had a chap called Tim Daghestani who was from Jordan. I remember how badly he took that conflict!”

“You would, wouldn’t you! They say, whoever ‘they’ are, that warfare used to be 90% boredom and 10% action but up there looking out over southern Lebanon it was full on. Drones have totally altered the battlefield and we had to be alert all day and all night; no respite!”

“So how long had you been up on the border before you got injured?”

“About six weeks. Fucking drone flew overhead and dropped some grenades. It was raining, dark and windy and no one saw it until it was too late. Israel has, for its entire existence, coped with minor conflicts so the process of recovery, rehabilitation and repatriation was a well-oiled machine.” 

“Now you’re back, do you think you made the right decision, to go?”

“Oh! God! It’s so complicated ….. this heart and head thing! Obviously Hamas decided that enough was enough, that their often reiterated raison d’être was the destruction of the Jewish State, and that the time was right. Did anyone in their leadership think what the response to their murder, rape, torture and kidnapping operation might be? (Ed It sounded as though Josh was talking ‘bold’.) I assume they couldn’t care; bit like Stalin, ‘one death is a tragedy, a million deaths a statistic.’ And no one can be anything but aghast at what is happening to the Palestinian people, with no end to their suffering.

So, yes! I am pleased I went, pleased I came back in one piece, pleased to identify as a Jew, but saddened how many innocent people die or are simply displaced in conflicts, whether it’s this one, or in Syria or Ukraine with whole cities flattened, with the Rohingya and Uyghur genocides, not to mention the Sudanese conflict. I came back on 1^st February and am having a few counselling sessions to make sure I put the experiences in context.”

“Well done you, Josh! I was going to say you can tell your children about it but I have no idea whether you and Luke want children?”

“A conversation for another time maybe?”

 “Before you go back to help Libby, you might like to hear this, extracted from the obituary of a civilian doctor who had gone to help out during our military operations in Afghanistan:  

“As someone who had gone on peace marches, I thought soldiers were stupid and unreasoning. After my ‘vicars and tarts course’, a six weeks’ intensive training at Sandhurst for professional recruits such as doctors, lawyers and dentists (Ed: Dr Chris Bulstrode was the oldest ever Officer Cadet at 56) I was posted to Afghanistan. After six months working as a front-line doctor in Camp Bastion, I changed my view. I liked and admired many of the men and women I met. They were a team of hugely loyal, talented, committed individuals who were passionate about their jobs. There are plenty of things I don’t like about the army, like the staggering weight of full-combat gear and the gut-challenging responsibility of going out on patrol, but I did savour the absolute simplicity of the life.” (Dr Chris Bulstrode CBE surgeon 1951 – 2023)

“That’s exactly it! Spot on! Hey! Must go! Thanks for listening.”

While Josh returned to his barista duties, I looked around this delightful café, so pleased to be part of its vibe. Must catch up with Mo on my next visit.

Richard 15^th March 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Possibly the shortest ‘war’ was the military conflict between the United Kingdom and the Sultanate of Zanzibar in August 1896. It lasted about 45 minutes and if you don’t know its details, it’s worth finding out.

I imagine sociologists are having a field day observing how we are developing, or not! That is, is society worse now than twenty years ago, one hundred and twenty years ago, before the pandemic? Both individuals and groups are interacting with each other in different ways. Rather than drift inexorably towards one another, with more shared than oppositional views, for the greater good of mankind, it seems we are moving apart in some form of macro polarisation.

Two observations illustrate this at the micro level.

Just before Christmas Celina and I, after our morning yoga session, were waiting for the No 6 bus in Churchill Square to take us home. The square is a magnet for shoppers, with M&S on one side and the huge shopping centre, recently bought by Ikea, on the other. Given the time of year, the bus was pretty full when we got on, trying not to let our wet yoga mats get in the way, but there were a few spaces. Normally I leave the seats reserved for the elderly or those unable to stand and we found a couple behind such a row, which was already occupied.

Then an oldish bald chap got on, wearing a gilet and shorts, as you do in winter, presumably wanting to make a statement, looked around for a seat and said to the two people in front of us “These are reserved for the old ….. move!” Quite shocked by the tone of his voice, the two women got up and started to move to the back, one of them telling the chap she was pregnant. No recognition, no empathy, no: “Oh! I’m so sorry! Please! Stay there.” The whole situation highlighted the difficulties we have in recognising invisible disabilities or early-stage pregnancy.

The bus moved off, everyone settled, until Mr ‘Couldn’t Give a Monkey about Others’ noticed a chap staring at him, presumably wondering why someone could be so rude. Well, that started 5 minutes of “What the f**k are you looking at?” “You got a problem?” ……. and without getting any response repeated himself, glaring at those around him, confronting their non-responsiveness. Other passengers were shocked but these days there’s a reluctance to challenge rudeness for fear of exacerbating the situation. Fortunately, he got off at the next stop and the bus’s passengers, heaving an audible collective sigh of relief, started chatting to those next to them. (Note 1)

Everyone accepts that for well-referenced reasons we are in a ‘cost of living’ crisis. You could blame Putin for his invasion of another sovereign country and its effect on energy costs, a general increase in labour and raw material prices globally or countries wanting to implement better environmental policies which are often more costly, but its effect, particularly for those struggling at the bottom of the societal heap, is profound. And when your back is against the wall, desperate times call for desperate measures. Not able to afford the basics, you might go to your local Food Bank whose number here has seen an exponential rise, or you might be tempted in the supermarket to pop some bacon or a loaf of bread into your bag with the intention of not paying at the checkout. I read somewhere that some people, presumably not shop owners, think it’s acceptable and that’s extremely worrying.

An individual on their own does not constitute a society; you need at least one other, with whom you agree certain acceptable behaviours. If you can’t agree it’s back to the law of the jungle. Over generations we like to think the basics are right but introduce new laws to cope with changing values; we think we become more civilised in the process. But I also understand that within a country’s borders there may be many different societies who don’t sign up to the majority view. A recent documentary focused on petty criminals and their love of Rolex watches – other people’s that is. Asked whether they thought it morally wrong to steal, often in a violent manner, the response was: “I don’t do morals.” (Note 2)

The other day I was in George Street, in Bert’s, a store that provides the solution to the question: “God! I have to buy something for my best friend/brother/work colleague/sister/friend’s baby/an anniversary/to take to a supper party etc.” The range runs from cuddly toys, greeting cards and mugs, through every conceivable cooking gadget known to women and men to plates, bowls and paper napkins looking like £20 notes. Lots of items, none of which cost a fortune, which could convey whatever message they need to: “Congratulations/thank you/you need this/love you/the mug caption made me smile and think of you etc.”

Clutching a couple of cards in one hand, I made my way around the central shelving unit to see whether anything else caught my eye, before arriving back near the cash desk, staffed by Bridget, just in time to hear someone kick off.

“Wot! You fink like I didn’t pay for this? How dare you!” shouted a woman wrapped fashionably in a parka with fake fur lining.

“Like you fink my money’s not as good as like these other customers ….

“Madam! I am sorry! I must have made a mistake (Ed: You could tell from her eyes she was thinking: ‘No! I haven’t’). I am sorry if I’ve offended you.”

“Trouble with you lot, with your toffee-nosed attitude, like you looks at me and fink I might put something in my pocket like without paying. Shame on you ….. and your grovelling attempts at an apology? F**k you!”

…… and, turning to the rest of us who, rather saddened at this display of ‘you said/she said/you said’ and feeling particularly sorry for the cashier, were looking on without making eye contact, shouted:

“And you lot! You’re like so judgemental! You go f**k yourselves too!” Off she strode, out into pedestrianised George Street, shouting to those who would listen ‘Don’t shop in Berts! Don’t want my money! Fuckers!’

Maybe she was a relative of Mr ‘Couldn’t Give a Monkey About Others’?

Richard 8^th March 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Of course I have no idea why this chap behaved the way he did; the imagination runs riot. Maybe it was as simple as getting out of bed the wrong side?

Note 2 It could be an examination question: “I don’t do morals. Discuss.”

If you read PC 366 ‘Medical Decluttering’ (December 2023) you will remember that, following enough time to describe a number of health issues with Celina’s private doctor, Simon Glew at The Hove Practice, I embarked on a few procedures to declutter and get a medical MOT for the year ahead. It started with the removal of a malignant melanoma before Christmas and then removal of big haemorrhoids in January. (See PC 373 Anally Focused February 2024)

In the UK there is an annual vehicle check by the Ministry of Transport (MOT) on its roadworthiness after the first three years. It looks at things like tyre tread, brake pads, steering etc and costs about £40. It seems appropriate to call this postcard a Medical MOT, as I have sold my six-year-old Audi Q3 to replenish the coffers. The car was due its MOT, insurance and Road Tax and was broadly costing me £3,000 per year – for 1350 miles!

I had a lipoma. “Lipomas are tumours which develop as well-circumscribed, encapsulated masses that have a doughy feel and are freely mobile beneath the skin. ….. Their slow, usually painless growth can lead to a large size. (Mine had grown over 7 years!) ….. Previous studies have defined a giant lipoma of the upper extremity as larger than 5cms; these are extremely rare and must be removed.” … say MDs Brian Allen, Christine Rader and Alan Babigian in a paper in the magazine Pulsus Plastic Surgery.

Most lipoma is unsightly although benign but mine was about 10cms long so I was referred to a consultant in the Montefiore Hospital here in Hove. I am no stranger to this private hospital as I had had a L4/L5 microdiscectomy on my back here in July 2017, (see PC 99 Montefiore June 2017) after my failure to get the NHS to do anything more than prescribe Gabapentin, a horrific painkiller!

Just to confirm my lump was a lipoma, Joideep Phadnis, the Orthopaedic Consultant who specialises in Shoulder and Elbow Surgery, whom I saw before Christmas, said I should have a MRI to ‘confirm the lesion is benign before removal’. Meanwhile, given his busy timetable, I was provisionally booked in for surgery on 21^st February 2024 – nine days ago.  

My MRI Scan. Not sure what the pike-looking shape is?

Gradually the day dawns and, following the appropriate pre-admission checks, I am into the hospital at 1230 for afternoon surgery. Sitting in my room, dressed for the occasion complete with DVT socks and backless gown, I begin to wonder whether ‘afternoon’ would become early evening! Fortunately I have brought my Kindle, so immerse myself in Chris Hammer’s latest Australian novel. Strangely, Ivan, the Homicide Detective Sergeant investigating a murder, is remembering his mentor – Morris Montifiore!

Eventually I am summoned, walked along the deserted hospital corridor and arrive at the theatre. Normal sort of chat …… ‘just feel a small prick and breathe the oxygen in ….. and out ……’ and then I am back in my room!

After the shift change at 2000, I get given some painkillers and told not to get the wound wet for a fortnight ….. and I can go. Celina arrives at the main entrance which is now closed but she spies the cleaners going in round the back and makes her way up to my room. There’s something weird about empty hospital corridors at night; I sense we are not alone!

Back home at 2130

The following morning I look at the Limbo, a ‘waterproof protection for casts and dressings’, that I was given to enable me to have a shower.

I stick my arm in but the Limbo’s too short, the elasticated ring below my wound. I cut off the bottom end so my hand can come out, but my wound is too high for the ring to get around it. Useless!! Nice idea but in this instance useless!

When I was involved in sales and giving presentations to prospective clients, one well-proven method of getting rid of nervous negative thoughts was to snap a rubber band against one’s wrist. It hurt; the ‘negative thought’ was no longer the focus! Walk to the bathroom in the night and bang your foot, the natural reaction is to bend down to rub it. As you bend, if you bang your head, your head hurts – toe? Nah! So it is with another operation within a month of the first, any residual pain from the first disappears. Which is a delight! But actually there is very little pain after the second so I haven’t taken any painkillers.

Our NHS struggles. It does brilliantly with emergencies but waiting lists for elective appointments and operations grow longer and longer. We are starting to hear of isolated trials in ways to improve the way the NHS serves the nation. Too many individuals who dial 999 are generally picked up by an ambulance and taken to a hugely overstretched A&E department. There was news the other evening of a trial in Kent where representatives from over six NHS specialities, A&E, Social Services, GP, Critical Specialist Nurses etc all sat in a Call Centre, discussed the 999 call details and offered alternatives to putting the individual in an ambulance. Thinking outside the box, at last!

I had my second cataract removed yesterday at the Optegra Eye Hospital in Brighton. Now I have 20/20 vision in both eyes and popped into Tesco’s to buy some reading glasses; in a few weeks I might select a ‘designer’ pair.

Healing nicely

MOT complete; all I have to do now is encourage my intestines, ravaged by two lots of heavy anaesthetics within a month, to return to some form of equilibrium. Maybe I should eat a raw leek as it’s St David’s Day?

Richard 1^st March 2024 – St David’s Day

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS Two medical stories appeared in the news a few weeks ago. In the first, a biochemist who worked for the NHS won a discrimination claim after she was listed on a London hospital spread sheet under the name ‘Paininarse’. Funny to read but insensitive and traumatic if it described you.

I like Lisa, Sami’s partner, a lot and I have watched their relationship develop into something secure and exciting since they first met on a tour of the sites of the 1857 Indian Mutiny in November 2022 (see PC 309). Lisa herself suffered in a horrid coercive relationship and it’s worth reading PC 335 ‘Lisa Wallace – My Story’ (May 2022) if you haven’t (?), so I know she’s taking one day at a time. She’s alone in The Hope Café on Wednesday afternoon when I drop in and, seeing me, lifts an arm to suggest I should join her; so, coffee in hand, I do just that.

“Hi! Lisa. Good to see you! You on your own this afternoon? No Sami?”

“Sami had to go to the dental hygienist. He used to smoke and drinks too much coffee so it’s important he has regular check-ups; gum disease is preventable … so I am told.”

“Where does he go?”

“The Hove Dental Practice in Salisbury Road; we both go there. The hygienist Jenny is absolutely brilliant and you’d hardly know she’s inspected, checked, cleaned and polished. Has the touch of an angel!”

“Ah! Yes! Celina and I both started going there when the BUPA practice in New Church Road was slow in opening after Covid. It’s delightfully international, isn’t it, with Jenny who’s Scottish and Greek dentists Rachil and Dimitri! How’s life here in Hove?”

“Very different from The Peak District but the constant sea air is so invigorating. Listen, The Argos have asked me to write something about the current railway strikes, how bad they are for the local economy and how can we the public persuade the union to settle the dispute. Any ideas?”

“There are always two aspects; pay and conditions of employment. We know about pay because that affects us all, but if I understand some of the issues about their working conditions correctly, I want to either laugh or cry.”

“Not sure I understand.”

“Take technology. I assume a train driver has to have a good grasp of technology so you would think they would embrace anything that makes their job easier. The leaders of their union, in this case ASLEF (The Associated Society of Locomotive Engineers and Fireman) don’t, seeing it as a threat to their employment.”

“Well, if we have trains, we need drivers! I read that ASLEF has some 21,000 members earning approximately £65,000 per year, for a four-day week. Sounds good to me!”

“OK! So, laugh or cry? A rule introduced in 1980, 44 years ago, allows drivers to take paid time off work to have a six-monthly check up on the harmful effects from the microwave that they use to heat their meals. I have to assume they do not have a microwave in their domestic kitchen, like 99% of the population.”

Lisa is laughing!

“Your nieces and nephews have iPads or some other similar device?”

“Of course, although I think my sister has strict rules about their use.”

“Clearly ASLEF members’ families don’t and the union wants an extra technology allowance agreed before their employer can introduce some iPads, which would be used, for instance, to notify them of temporary speed limits. Would make their job easier. Actually no laughing matter; pathetic! Next I imagine they will want to bring back the chap with the red flag to walk the track in front of the train!”

“I read that one train had to terminate one station before its proper destination because the driver hadn’t had lunch.”

“Sorry?”

“Apparently, he forgot his tin opener so couldn’t open his can of soup! A manager offered him a sandwich but he wanted his soup; a train load of passengers had to disembark one station from where they had planned. Ridiculous – and probably badly handled by ‘management’?”

“God! Help Us! We’re extremely lucky that the Victorians developed a passion for building railways but sad that some of our unions’ attitude seems stuck in that Victorian era. You have enough to write your article now?”

“Yup! I have already researched union resistance to the use of drones for track inspections and restrictions on engineering teams and their composition. So yes, should be able to get it to the Features Editor by Monday.”   

“What do you think about Duncan’s idea of developing next door as a bookshop?”

“Sami mentioned it to me. Once up and running I am sure it would make money and increase turnover in here; personally I would be wary of having so much debt, but I am not Duncan! You read The Times, don’t you? Did you see Matt Rudd’s column about an experiment devised by two psychologists? Half the participants had to engage in lively conversation with the café barista from whom they had ordered their coffee, the other half had to simply get through the process. The chatty half reported a sense of belonging and an improved mood as a result of the interaction. The miserable monosyllabic half did not. No one asked how the barista felt!”

“Wouldn’t happen here! The flow of conversation across the counter’s wonderful and I watch our baristas Kate and Susie really engage, with enthusiasm and a smile. I must show Duncan my latest triptych, those beach huts over there painted from the sea side.”

“Have you got a photograph?”

“Yes” I said and opened my iPad and my ‘Art’ album in ‘photos’. Here”

“That’s great Richard; very gifted. Duncan will want another! I saw Luke and Josh the other day and Josh starts back here at the beginning of March.”

“Excellent! Before I go, I must tell you …… I was in Rahmi’s the other morning just before 8 o’clock buying a magazine and some milk. A chap came in, walked down the aisle to the alcohol section and, grasping a few bottles of beer as if they were nectar, joined me in the queue to pay. Somewhat ironic as next door the local Alcoholic Anonymous group had just finished their breakfast meeting. Maybe others would come in to buy some essentials?”

“Ha! Ha! That’s lovely. I’m off too, Richard; I’m meeting Sami in Semola for a spot of lunch. See you next time; take care!”

          Wishing each other a fun rest-of-the-day, we nodded to Susie and went out into a misty late morning Hove.

Richard 23^rd February 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk