January 2003
The story of Munich began in Lisbon or probably even before that. Christine had relented to going to counselling or rather she decided we needed to go for reasons unspoken despite the fact that I had suggested the same course of action two years prior. Continue reading
Giving up is a quiet affair. You don’t fight anymore because it doesn’t matter. You wash your hands of consequence because there is nothing left to fear, change is no longer unwelcome, only the acceptance that what has gone before will never again be. Continue reading
Christines aged parents lived in Colyton near Seaton in the north east of Devon. Not Devon proper but that curious outpost that ought to be Wiltshire that is to the east of Exeter. We spent many ‘relaxing’ weekends there where we became, for a day and a half, honorary pensioners. Pensioners are by nature a dying breed and so it was that I felt that a small part of me died with every visit. Continue reading
The park of the palace built by Henry VIII that no longer stands was scene to a favourite ‘Jemima moment’ of mine. Christine and I walked there on the odd occasion normally keeping to the open grassy areas but one fine day we took a different route through the park coming across a cafe that we hadn’t known was there. Continue reading
