Sunday morning in Hertfordshire. Beethoven plays. There is a pheasant stuffed with bay, rosemary and thyme and wrapped in bacon in the oven. All is peaceful at mine. My friend Marie has been staying this weekend. She'll catch her train home after lunch. It has been a good weekend.
Whilst I'm at peace the wider world crashes on in its destructive way. The west is divided. The east is at war. And somewhere in the middle Europe teeters in a precarious position. What was known is no longer certain. Who can trust whom?
My thoughts go to many as this winter progresses. At this time to Persians as well as people caught up in war. I have a couple of Persian friends. Who knows what will happen to this most ancient of people?
In my quiet, peaceful flat I'm lucky. My working life has improved immeasurably. Others though are feeling vulnerable. Why do we make work so hard on ourselves? Thursday takes me to The Royal College of Psychiatrists. I've been before but a long time ago.
As for today, when alone I look forward to watching the Rams in the playoffs in Chicago. Going to be mightily cold.
I Heard a Voice.
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