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Wednesday, 29 March 2017

Over the edge...

Boy visited on Mother's Day...

With him was his elderly amour and jolly contented they looked together.

Contentment. Now there's a thing. Not exactly 'happiness' (a state of which the young seem to view as a human right) but the deeper and more solid state of acceptance of one's lot with no urgent requirement for change.

A state to which One has never been elevated and to which now, is about as likely as One's appearance on the front cover of Vogue.

The closest One has ever been were those long ago, winter afternoons in Highgate, where One and Boy would sit quietly in front of the fire watching London fall silent beneath a covering of forgiving snow.

Now, we've all wandered off in different directions and news reaches me of the death of another of our Bohemian group.

One can't help but imagine our fiendish creator stifling a guffaw as he/she moves us about the giant chessboard of life: some pushed onto comfy sofas and others flicked over the edge...

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