Wednesday, 30 July 2008

Goffy Come Home!!!






So, this is all I've seen of this man for the last 8 weeks! It has felt like 8 years! Well, OK, that's a bit of an exageration.....but you get the picture! He has signed off skype now and is incommunicado until he texts from Ndola and then several hours after that, Johannesberg, and then, thank Gaia, HOME! Home again. He has a nasty habit of getting into the airport before the aeroplane! You think I jest? No, no gentle reader. The plane is due to land at 7.25 and Lo! The Goffman cometh at 7.15! How does he do it? I'm damned if I know, but there he is, as large as life and as cuddly and wonderful as its possible to be after 8 weeks of camming on skype.

But there I shall stop, before I get altogether too gooey and make anyone sick! He he! Just 57 hours to go. Yay!

Tuesday, 29 July 2008

Letter to my Daughter


Dearest Claire

I would like to appeal to your sense of time running short. The brevity of life. The waste of lost opportunities. Perhaps you have not felt that yet. The sense of life galloping by at an increased pace seemingly every year. I feel it constantly.

I have always felt that any problems at all can be worked out by two willing people. With honesty and transparency on both sides, anything, surely, can be resolved, explained, understood, accepted, compromised over and finally forgiven.

I am willing and more than willing to "come to the table" with you.

You are my daughter and I love you dearly. That will never change. There are no circumstances that will change my feelings for you. There are no "last ditch efforts", I will try, to the end of my days, to patch things up with you. There will always be a hole in my life until you are there to fill it again.

I am consoled in the thought of you being happy in your life. Happy in your marriage with Simon and happy in your studies. I am consoled in the thought of you still in close contact with your father and his family. I am consoled in the knowledge of your youth and health.

I am bereft at the thought of losing you out of my life. You are my daughter - with all the connotations of that word, and I love you dearly and I miss you enormously.

Time heals everything? Has enough time passed for you to want to try to come together again?

Thursday, 10 July 2008

Ordeal by Golf



A pleasant breeze played among the trees on the terrace outside the Marvis Bay Golf and Country Club. It ruffled the leaves and cooled the forehead of the Oldest Member, who, as was his custom of a Saturday afternoon, sat in the shade on a rocking-chair, observing the younger generation as it hooked and sliced in the valley below. The eye of the oldest Member was thoughtful and reflective. When it looked into yours you saw in it that perfect peace, that peace beyond understanding, which comes at its maximum only to the man who has given up golf.



The Oldest Member has not played golf since the rubber-cored ball superseded the old dignified gutty. But as a spectator and philosopher he still finds pleasure in the pastime. He is watching it now with keen interest. His gaze, passing from the lemonade which he is sucking through a straw, rests upon the Saturday foursome which is struggling raggedly up the hill to the ninth green. Like all Saturday foursomes, it is in difficulties. One of the patients is zigzagging about the fairway like a liner pursued by submarines. Two others seem to be digging for buried treasure, unless--it is too far off to be certain--they are killing snakes. The remaining cripple, who has just foozled a mashie-shot, is blaming his caddie. His voice, as he upbraids the innocent child for breathing during his up-swing, comes clearly up the hill.



The Oldest Member sighs. His lemonade gives a sympathetic gurgle. He puts it down on the table.

* * * * *



How few men, says the Oldest Member, possess the proper golfing temperament! How few indeed, judging by the sights I see here on Saturday afternoons, possess any qualification at all for golf except a pair of baggy knickerbockers and enough money to enable them to pay for the drinks at the end of the round. The ideal golfer never loses his temper. When I played, I never lost my temper. Sometimes, it is true, I may, after missing a shot, have broken my club across my knees; but I did it in a calm and judicial spirit, because the club was obviously no good and I was going to get another one anyway. To lose one's temper at golf is foolish. It gets you nothing, not even relief. Imitate the spirit of Marcus Aurelius. "Whatever may befall thee," says that great man in his "Meditations", "it was preordained for thee from everlasting. Nothing happens to anybody which he is not fitted by nature to bear." I like to think that this noble thought came to him after he had sliced a couple of new balls into the woods, and that he jotted it down on the back of his score-card. For there can be no doubt that the man was a golfer, and a bad golfer at that. Nobody who had not had a short putt stop on the edge of the hole could possibly have written the words: "That which makes the man no worse than he was makes life no worse. It has no power to harm, without or within." Yes, Marcus Aurelius undoubtedly played golf, and all the evidence seems to indicate that he rarely went round in under a hundred and twenty. The niblick was his club.