I can still see that smile from soft lips in the past distance and distant past on Waterloo Bridge. The breeze blowing along the Thames dishevels the naturally curly rich hair, as the Wild Woman of Borneo arrives from the direction of Waterloo Station. Doubledeckers, taxis, fancy cars, careless cyclists, honking, confused tourists consulting crumpled maps. Lowry’s stickmen are as if they didn’t even exist at all. A pair of sparkling green eyes meet mine. “Come away with me in the night ... “

Cappuccino and latte at Caffè Nero near St Mary le Strand. “Shall we look around in Covent Garden Market?”

Mum needs some wool for her tapestry.

The concert at the Barbican was quite good. It’s getting late and chilly, have to catch the last Tube train. Good, it isn’t late. The street lights of South London outside, below our crammed train, rush past. The car is where we left it at Dartford station. The evening is cool, but it will never chill the warmth inside, which will last forever.

How about the Chelsea Flower Show or those exotic plants in Kew? “That lavender field you showed me is much more beautiful”. Drizzling mist. Few people in this November evening at Bluewater. “Did you like it? They opened it recently”.

“No weapons, even licenced ones, are allowed into the concert hall” - our taxi driver has been waiting for us in the Nashville full moon’s light in the Opry parking lot. Tuck in. Good night, darling.

Even morphine hardly works.

“I managed half a cheese sandwich, two thirds Oykos yoghurt, mouthful of ice cream plus a cup of tea at teatime ... Anyway, soon to sleep I hope. Anyway, soon to sleep I hope. Love you loads xxxxx “