Bank Holiday

Below me there are cries of "Rent", sounds of laughter and gaoled moans; the hissing of stacked,steaming pans of Sunday dinner & the last Christmas pud in the pressure cooker is intermingled with the chink of wine glasses; more laughter and screams.... we have solved the Mysteries of Old Peking and Baker Street and worked out Miss Scarlett did it in the Hall with the revolver; accrued letters lists of Topix have now been abandoned for high rising competition and thereat I picked up the vegetable knife- I don't like Monopoly- my sister when I knew her- and H1 later in my life are both cut-throat at this and unlike me , neither play to enjoy but play to win whatever the cost. So I'm out!

I woke up to rain pattering on the windowpane and leaves rustling on the beech trees.I am pleased this didn't greet yesterday as D3 and I did a fruitful car boot sale.



The ladies went to Seaton Delaval Hall in the rain earlier this week; I recall the 1970's medieval banquets with singing maidens, mead and platters of broth under the lead of a baron and his good lady. I am pleased the National Trust managed to pull together enough donations to save the hall from going out of public hands.



Pakistan has been drowned; collections are going on all over the UK to help. Will the money get to the poor? We hear tales of rich,indigenous people not contributing for their own people- and money going into the wrong hands- backshish makes folk reluctant to donate but Britain gives regardless.

At 8pm I am typing in growing darkness as the autumn nights are drawing in.