May 18th (Sun)

In the wider world the twin catastrophes in Asia dominate. In Burma the military junta strut on TV screens handing out lovingly wrapped parcels to hopelessly grateful citizens. At least a dozen people are thus helped. Meanwhile, cut off by the self same junta from the western navies queueing up to help, and by their own refusal to get their shiny general's boots dirty, the death toll mounts daily as nothing is done to prevent the onset of disease and hunger to add to the catastrophe brought about by hurricane Nargis.
If this is awful, then it has incredibly been trumped by the calmity in China. A whole region seems to have dissapeared from the map. Tens of thousands are dead, and God only knows how many poor souls lie crushed under tons and tons of concrete which nobody has the means to move.
After the debacle of thge Olympic torch, the Chinese government seems to have employed spin doctors and they are presenting a humane and caring face to the world. The massive Chinese army is heavily mobilised, and they make genuine and heart rending efforts to ride to the rescue. It all seems more effort than result, but it is hard not to feel admiration for their efforts.
After two dreadful days, the sun peeps back out from behind the clouds. After a grey start it's seen again.
H has taken Dan off to football, and it falls for me to take Emsy to the Kinshill school fete. It's so early in the year that I don't even realise until near the end that this is THE summer fete. It's always a good afternoon, and I always feel guilty that I have to be dragged there so reluctantly, and that I have succesfully escaped on a few ocassions.
But what a happy time it is. So much work, so much fun. The kids running around their school and so proud for their parents to see it. The teachers all there happy to help. The tombolas, the beat a goalie, the stocks, which Emsy mans for a while, where you can through wet sponges at the captive.
This year there are old fashioned swing boats, a steam roller and a barrel organ. The weather relents and shines down a warm, if not hot light on the whole event. The clouds are high and fluffy, if ever present.
And it dawns on me that I will never do this again. I'll never have to be coerced or cajoled. I'll never dream up a lethargic excuse to escape. I'm ashamed for ever having done so,and dearly wish I'd have a small child at this lovely school for the rest of my days. But of course it cannot be, and this makes me truly, truly sad.
I walk away hand in hand with my lovely younger daughter and know that this time next year she will have changed without recognition. She'll be as lovely, just as lovely, but wholly different. I'll have no children left. And I regret everything that I couldn't and often wouldn't do for each of them to make their childhood as magical as they deserved it to be.
M comes for lunch. I can only imagine his list of regrets, but that makes my own no less bittersweet.