Dr. Stott: (2014, Newport, Gwent).
Today is my birthday so a good enough reason to post. So far the day has been spent having breakfast in The Priory, Caerleon from an impressive refectory table. Cheeses, fruit and other delights were followed by traditional eggs and bacon, tea and toast and frost on the car for the first time this year. Then off to train a group of paediatricians, child psychiatrists, speech and language therapists on using the ADOS-2. Lots of birthday messages on Facebook, will soon be followed by dinner at The Priory. Splendid day. Garry gave me Heston Blumenthal’s “Historic Heston” Cookery Book for my birthday, so I am now planning interesting and decidely over-elaborate dishes to test out on family, firends and neighbours. And Katze.
Mr Pepys: (1660, London).
To my Lord’s, where after I had done talking with him Mr. Townsend, Rumble, Blackburn, Creed and Sheply and I to the Rhenish winehouse, and there I did give them two quarts of Wormwood wine
The Assassin’s Cloak: Noel Coward (1963, Philadelphia).
The most horrible and incredible catastrophe. On Friday President Kennedy was shot dead in Dallas, Texas, by a young man of twenty-four called Oswald apparently. Oswald himself was shot this morning while he was being transferred from one prison to another. The whole country is in a state of deep shock.
The Assassin’s Cloak: Brian Cox (1990)
Thiis has been an infamous week because on Thursday morning, ThanksgivingDay, Mrs. Thatcher resigned. It was a cause for great celebration by the company.
Dr Stott: (2014, Cambridge). The sun has set on another Armistice Day. I didn’t get to see the poppies at the Tower – at least not ‘live’ – but such a spectacular and poignant display will stay in the minds of all who witnessed it, in whatever way they were able. This is something we, as a nation, do well. Respect, recall, ponder.
Mr Pepys: (1666, London). “And the business of the firing of the City, and the fears we have of new troubles and violences, and the fear of fire among ourselves, did keep me awake a good while, considering the sad condition I and my family should be in. So at last to sleep.
The Assassins Cloak: Lady Cynthia Asquith: (1915, London). On hearing of yet another relation killed in action. Oh why was I born for this time. Before one is thirty to know more dead than living people?, Stanley, Clouds, Gosford – all the settings of one’s life – given up to ghosts. Really, one hardly knows who is alive and who is dead. One thing is that now at least people will no longer bury their dead as they used. Now they are so many one must talk of them naturally and humanly, not banish them by only alluding to them as if it were almost indelicate.
The Assassins Cloak: Virginia Woolf: (1918, London). Twenty-five minutes ago the guns went off, announcing peace. A siren hooted on the river. They are hooting still.
Dr Stott: (2014, Cambridge)
Fireworks outside and a crackling fire within. Plotting our own Lode treason for Saturday. There will be Black Peas in the pan, from cousin Jayne in Oldham, to be accompanied by Lancashire Hot Pot, Mrs. Booth’s Parkin, home made treacle toffee and some music.
Mr Pepys: (1660, London)
“This 5 of November is observed exceeding well in the City and at night great bonfires and fireworks. At night Mr. Moore came and sat with me, another I took a book and he did instruct me in many law-notions, in which I took great pleasure. To bed.”
The Assassins Cloak: Sir Hugh Casson: (1980, Oxford)
“Sherry with the Society’s Officers in Merton, followed by dinner in hall. Oh the gloom of High Table, the black gowns, dark panelling, subdued cross-talk, but perhaps they are all happy enough.”