London. Time seems out of itself. On hold, crudely. After closeup of family dramas in Sussex, found a degree of normality back in London...went down to Kew and was plunged deep in cooking and bouncy castles. Called being useful granny, a change from grieving daughter. After which, hats switching, I talked music with a visiting musician and music producer, both clutching babies. (Story of music much like story of books. Moneymen have taken over - only hope of oddities being taken up is new small companies.) Rain and sun. English weather. Meal eaten partly in and out, time spent between house, garden and Kew Green where local pub had set up the said bouncy castles. My two younger granddaughters who tend to like taking their clothes off at all times have discovered mooning somehow. This has to be discouraged. If funny.
Not just my dad. In the last few days have discovered that my mother's great friend had died too - appropriately for her of a heart attack, in a swimming pool. She always was outrageous - my buttoned-up but underneath wild mother's alter ego. Another person from whom my dad snatched us all way after my mother died and he fled thirty miles or so west, to dread Haslemere, cutting us off from our childhood at a stroke. My mother died 41 years ago. All this makes it seem new.
On top of this my two mad American cousins - 85 years old - both have Altzheimers.
A whole world is swept away - but isn't it always?
I am just tired tired. And at 4am tomorrow have to head for plane and Beloved in Cadiz. Can no more. I kiss the babies. They are warm and full of life. Heartbreaking.
Goodnight. Granny p