Bertie: “It can’t be easy being you, Bobby. It’s hard enough just being your friend. A day of wonderful joy became a following day of huge muddle in your bonce.” (more…)
When Eliza Doolittle sat at the corner of the stage in a scene of old London and sang “Wouldn’t it be luvverly” Bobby knew it would be a wonderful show. That he had booked the cheapest ticket in the back row of the “gods”, not even knowing it was a very special day was lucky enough. (more…)
You never took me
Bertie: “You never took me!”
Bobby: “Now look Bertie, I had no idea I was going to see the opening of the Elizabeth Line. I go to London every Tuesday for an Al-Anon meeting in Islington. This week I had arranged to meet Technical Director Tim on his canal boat. Hoping to solve a simple IT problem I had prevaricated over for weeks. But then I had chosen Farringdon as my station for Islington. A station steeped in history and the centre of the extraordinary building of the Elizabeth Line.” (more…)
The man is the book; the book is the man. This incontestable truth, which I often repeat to myself, I claim to be as true of gardens as it is of authors and their books. As a man is, so is his garden. He is a reflection of it. And it of him. For this reason, whenever I am asked how I planned my garden, I always reply, “I didn’t. It evolved.”
So said H E Bates in his book “A Fountain of Flowers”. (more…)
When Estelle (a mindfulness teacher friend of Bobby’s) gave Bobby that single stem of Lily of the Valley, she could never have imagined what memories she would unlock from his far off young days.
Back in April, Bobby had been to his lunchtime Al-Anon meeting in Islington. The sun shone and he caught a 205 bus to pursue further peace and serenity in the Tower Hamlets Cemetery Park. Intending to turn his phone off, it bleeped nevertheless. The Bobbys of this world are compelled to look, of course. (more…)
“Are you an Explorer?” the little girl asked.
“I am” said Bobby. “And so are you.” (more…)
🌸Fl🌸wers 🌸n t🌸e c🌸stp🌸th🌸
🌸 Out damned spot I say. One two
Why then is time to do’t. Hell is murky (more…)