Grinding On

"You're tired," says Ailz.

"Yes," I say, " Bone weary".

 It goes deep- and comes of looking after my mother for a year and three quarters.

My mother sits at the breakfast table with the paper in front of her. These days she rarely gets beyond the front page. It's customary for her to fixate on one particular headline and keep asking questions about it. This morning she's picked on a banner at the top of the page- offering a free copy of the Railway Children in return for something or other.

"This is a book for children? She asks.

"It's E. Nesbit," I say. "It's a very famous childen's book." She looks blank.  I forbear to tell her that she was the one who introduced me to E. Nesbit fifty something years ago.

I Love Margate

"Oh, not Margate!" said Stephen when we said we wanted to move there. "But..." we said, and enumerated all that is wonderful about the place.  He just shook his head and made deprecating noises. He lives in Canterbury- just down the road- but I can't believe he's ever been to Margate- or at least not recently- otherwise he'd know better.

Margate has a kiss-me-quick-image (and what's wrong with that?) but there's so much more. To start with (to quote Turner ) the light is the "best in Europe".

Anyway, here's Ailz sitting in the restaurant at the art gallery waiting for lunch- with the stone pier visible out the window.