Bernie would have been 79 today. Not 80. I rang my Dad to check. So bad is my own memory lately that I just couldn’t remember how old she was when she died in 1990. It was 62 in fact, not 63 as I half-guessed, and I was able to tell Jack.
So it’s been a day with memories flitting in and out and maybe appropriate to start a diary again. Certainly she would have been impressed had she ever known her grandchildren. One in Germany on an exchange, watching Miss Congeniality in German and visiting Aachen and Colgne. The other playing midfield in a local football team of a Sunday and scoring not one but two great goals. Her own son still not a newsreader though –and I think this might have produced some disappointment.

Work – not at all bad today. Met a new colleague who is going to be doing some work with me next term. Should be good.

Noticed – man with rucksack staring up a Holborn side street and ducking repeatedly behind the railings as though he was being followed.

Travelled – with happy people mostly – non-stop back home. The evenings are getting lighter again