20 February 2013


Filthy day, all the nicer of pals over from the Big Smoke to pop in and check up on me. 

Inevitable that the chat moved to the 'difficult' days, during which they were bastions of comfort and vocal challengers of much of my treatment.

Interesting how tidbits creep out as time passes: we stood overlooking the garden, such as it is, and then they asked to walk around so i left them to it and made tea and laid out the Peek Freens and lemon curd sarnies.

On their return and around the fire, one of them commented sympathetically on the vile gardenry that was one of the hardest to take of my servitudes.

"You'd escaped from another of her rambling repetitions and she suddenly assured us that she never humbled you by making you garden in front of others.
 'But what about the humiliation in himself? The grinding down of his own self-respect and the shame in his own mind?'

I don't think it even occurred to her and she changed the subject."

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