Jan 3rd

Sophie’s birthday. Didn’t get involved in the present opening as was trying to get ready to get out on time. Felt a bit sorry for her...birthday just after Christmas syndrome. Add to that H being ill and it just seemed to me that no one had made the effort she deserved.
She’s 17. Where has that time gone to? Old enough to drive (licence should arrive soon though heaven forfend anyone in this family was organised enough to have it ready for the day itself for her)
Last year we had been to Warwick Castle as a family. There had been murmurings about lunch near Calais, but the general opinion was that she was too busy preparing for exams. Just as well as H was still suffering and wouldn’t have been fit.
Tried to dissuade D & E fom her birthday trip. Firstly prices start escalating when timesed by 4 and secondly I had every reason to suspect that after 10 mins they’d be bored silly and D would start acting the idiot.
We went to Rickmansworth for the train so that H could leave the mobile skip at the garage. She’s take my car back and I’d pick up the skip on the way back.
Sophie looked great. She’s bought a new white coat in the sales, and had a sort of Beatles era red woollen hat and matching scarf. She looked very sixties, very grown up and very lovely. On the train we talked about other days out we’d had together whilst he was a child, and I realised how pitifully few they had been, and how ridiculous that was considering how I’d adored every moment of each of them. Can’t anyone let us have another go?
She realised where we were off to just before the train got to St John’s Wood, and I was really thrilled how happy she was. I had thought it a bit of an afterthought gift, but there was no hiding her delight. It perked me up.
We walked down St John’s Wood Road. London was still in not fully back to work mode, the traffic sparse and unhurried. I thought of struggling along that road in a 7 ton truck as I had done many times the previous year and said a silent prayer that I should never need to do that again.
We arrived at Lord’s and were ushered into the museum. I managed to get the tickets at a discount thanks to a printout from the net, and I actually managed to persuade the guy to give Sophie student discount although she had no card.
We looked round the museum, which is smallish but suitably reverential to the great game. At 12 on the dot we were shepherded over to the pavillion. A massive oil painting of Vivian Richards glowered at me. The long room was wonderful. I was struck by the fantastic view of the playing area afforded by the long room. Keith, our guide explained about the MCC. Again a sense of missed opportunity came over me. About 15 years ago i’d asked Alan Sharpes about applying for membership. He hadn’t exactly gushed at the prospect but I am sure had I pushed a bit I’d have got there. I’d have been four years away from membership in that case. Best I could hope for if I started theprocess now would be membership aged 70! What a horrible thought! Just a few remaining years of dotage spent on the white benches. I wonder if I’d be able to stay awake for much of the day! Spoke to Sophie. We must pursue this. Once you are in you get 10 days of test cricket with the best seats in the house for about £350 a year. Considering these days Joe Public coughs up £60 a seat it’s got to be the best deal in town. Get on the phone. Even giving Graca lessons would be worth it!
The media centre was sensational. What a view, what a place. Surprisingly it was all pale blue on the inside, very relaxing, and a lovely contrast wih the rich winter green of the sacred turf below.
Long white benches with connections for phones and laptops. What a way to earn a living, gazing out on this perfect scene and passsing on one’s thoughts of the events unfolding below. How how how? Maybe Sophie will find the answer that I never did. She’s got the push for sure, and doesn’t lack the brains. Go for it Sofe!
We walked out of Lords after a couple of hours into a foul January wind. That felt like sharpened knives flying throught the air. Up to Edgware Road, past Dr Decasticer’s old surgery where my childhood ailments had been seen to, then on to Cuthber Street where I had spent my first 10 years on the planet. The semi grand building that had been Noman Linton’s (outsize men’s outfitters) and which our bedroom window had given out onto still stood much as it had then. Everything else had changed. The Arabic influence (mainly Lebanese I think) on Edgware Road had now crept a little further northwards, crossed church street and now the local shops were an assortment of Arab cafes, kebab joints, shops selling phone cards, middle eastern cheap restaurant and dodgy electrical ghear joints. After the grandeur of the streets around Lords this is a aqualid, dirty, uncared for chunk of London, but whilst the guardians of the squalor may have changed, I suppose the down at heel nature of the area is much the same as ever.
We took the tube to Camden, made a desultory foray into the market with all it’s wierdness and then settled on a small Thai restaurant for a bite to eat. Time was against us. Lords had eaten a bigger chunk out of the day than I had expected and Sophie had to be back for work at 6.
The place was empty and I didn’t get good vibes. The guy who greeted us seemed to do his best to dissuade us from staying, but things improved as a younger waiter came to help. We had tasty thai crackers, so much better than their dismal Chinese counterparts, some tasty starters. I had a beef coconut curry for mains. Wouldn’t write home about it. Sophie’s looked very intimidating, a seafood noodle concoction. It looked way too much food for her, and so it proved, though she professed how lovely it was all the way through. Bless her, she’d hate to appear ungrateful.
We rushed back to Marylebone following an aborted bus trip, and got a train at five, were back in Ricky by half past, and just delivered Sophie to John Lewis for six. H appeared almost simultaneously with her work clothes.
H appeared much better though still not eating. Heard on the news that something called Norovirus, which involves puking for two days the crapping madly for another two, is claiming 100,000 victims a week. It is apparently highly infectious, so following H’s lead we should all have something to look forward to next week!
Actually managed to watch the news AND newsnight. First time in over a week. When we only had four (or even three) channels I’d never miss the news. In fact I’d almost always catch it at six, see what had developed by nine, and then had it all put into context on Newsnight at Ten. Now in the age of multi channel everything on demand, I’m lucky to catch it twice a week.
Kenya is wobbling on the brink of catastrophe following dodgy elections, and the US caucases (that spelling looks wrong!) start I Iowa today. In other years I would be bang up to date on that story, but with the exception of Hillary and Rudi, and to a lesser extent Obama, they are a bunch of strangers. Resolve to read a paper more often.