of pat­terns, threads and knots

-- May 26th, 2015 --

It is a beau­ti­ful spring day here in Lon­don, edg­ing ever closer, day by day, to true sum­mer.  The church­yard is hung with bunting to cel­e­brate the 800th anniver­sary of the Magna Carta, whose sign­ing took place in Run­nymede, and one of whose sign­ers, Bishop Lang­ton, came through our neigh­bor­hood on his way home, and sanc­ti­fied our church chapel.  800 years ago.  That is history.


It’s help­ful to focus on the REALLY long game, because I won’t lie to you.  I’m find­ing the big pic­ture of my own small life at the moment to be a bit challenging.

It’s the for­est that’s get­ting to me.  The trees them­selves are per­fectly lovely: Avery is in the last month of her much-appreciated sec­ondary edu­ca­tion, doing well, antic­i­pat­ing the excite­ment of uni­ver­sity in Octo­ber, after a sum­mer of bliss­ful travel.  She is ready to leave.


John is in the throes of apply­ing for per­mis­sions for the details of our dream house, to be built in the com­ing two or three years at the foot of Tower Bridge.  It’s an unbe­liev­ably com­plex process, a drama peo­pled by seemingly…