Last night when I got home from work there was the same picture I’d left on the screen from the morning – it’s from a series of pictures Cousin Gerald sent me. It’s of the underside of a dock in the wintertime. Margot walked across the computer keyboard and – I’ve not the faintest notion how – suddenly there was a picture of a person holding up a sign saying “Most of the things you worry about never happen.” Bizarre. Then she stood on the brightness key until my screen disappeared, which is a much less entertaining and more cat like thing to do. Took me ages to figure out what had happened. All of these miracles would not occur if I just closed the darned thing up.
I am reading my grampa’s stories. I am now up to the point where his family could have taken the Titanic across the ocean but left a couple of days earlier that it did. One of his near relatives was so famous as a bookseller and antiquarian in England that a letter from America with his name, occupation and country on it – and NO other details – was delivered to him. I find it entertaining that anybody who really wanted to find me could do it in two steps on the internet, but the Post Office would be scunnered if somebody sent me a letter with my name, occupation and country on it. Mind you there was delivery twice a day in England then, and a little more enterprise among the employees.
He mentions another person from his childhood who noticed that the Greenwich Mean Time was off by two seconds one day and reported it by telegram. He was right, and they said so.
My grampa worked in the Cadbury chocolate factory when he was a boy.
Eddie is eating and going outside again, so he has recovered somewhat from the cold Jeff gave him. Mistress Margot is showing signs of wanting to go out. Sigh.