Pub in Well Walk, 90p, for iced water, just to sit down and write this

I suppose I could go on and on with these thoughts inspired by the broadcast, and informed by much else that memory arouses, or perhaps by the interest of even this little ambience of framed pictures of antiquated humour

(e.g. golfing cartoons, a picture of a twenties flapper flying up on a champagne cork, a tiny insect about a millimetre or less in length running fast over my knuckle but no longer for without thinking I squashed it and now regret that I did . . . . and the voices about me in this quiet back room of a pub under a glass roof and pergola with too many hanging plants for comfort . . . . )

but no I desist for there are other rhythms today of which writing this, while being the primary, is not the only one ... Rhythms of for one thing transcribing this into the internet as "today's writing" and homepage, for which it more than suffices, of continuing to "attend to life", and to recover yoga, and learning Cymraeg, and relearning computing with my new laptop, and perhaps continuing to refine and adjust the still too crude form of this 'invention' of 'live homepage' etc. as my life work from now on (and I expect but cannot remember, and don't wish to, various other demands, real or imaginary, that previously would have occupied me as worries and notes trying and failing to resolve them and their associated time conflicts . . . But all that I can feel is dull and deadly, no topic for this so I stop!)

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(c) john chris jones 1995