Cheré voyageuse

1 Well, it could have been memorable. During the week, after swimming, I entered Haulcon Towers, picked the mail from the floor, made a pot of green tea, and took a cup on to the patio. And it was not yet 8 am. Earlier this morning, I drove to the Towers intent on doing much the same. It was not yet 7 am as I approached. Cup of green tea, enjoy the morning, proceed to swimming. As I approached, I saw the familiar blue car on the drive. Had the young couple put the car in the garage ..... .

2 The sun does take longer in the morning. There is an autumnal langour. The air is still. And there were just two people in the pool shortly after 7 am. Steady lengths. Up and down. Autumnal swimming perhaps: no sense of a race, just steady, unremitting swimming. A pot of tea, and a round of toast, and the papers. A slow start to the day.

3 Later today I join my recently-appointed colleague in a second visit to the young man whose passport is being held by the Home Office. She will complete her first live application for assistance. Yet until his passport is released there is scarcely any significant assistance to be given. We'll see.

4 And bridge? Liam and I are now a practiced scoring team. I have the table open on the laptop. The scoring is completed. Then Liam reads and I key. (He is content with that division of labour.) WSe returned about 2300, and I sent the results just on midnight. The impact of the recent workshop on the play? None that I could see. Yet I have hopes for the introduction of (i) touch and play, (ii) odds and evens, and (iii) responses to an opening lead of a king. We'll see.

5 I registered your observation about life in the gated settlement. (Settlement is a more appropriate word than community?) It resonates with an elderly man who spent much of his early life in such settlements. The clear division between the inside and the outside. Remember the International Settlement in Shanghai? Our ways, our modes, our retreat. And the native members of the settlement are there by invitation.

6 Sometime today I must write to the principal of the London Kingston College about Rayhan Mommon. And I must e-mail the young man himself. Day by day though his misfortune has a diminishing claim on my energy. He has been returned. There was just the one meeting. I can hear the Home Office/Immigration Service/Borders Agency key turn on the lock which is marked 'Closed'.

7 Oh, yesterday I visited a man in The Close, the crescent which is situated beyond the Copyhold quadrant. When I arrived, another visitor was leaving. I mention that small point because the man himself was wearing just tracksuit bottoms. (The fact of a previous visitor, perhaps a member of a caring service was re-assuring.) In any case, we got on with the business. His daughter, who lives in the adjoining house, is his carer and she made me a cup of tea.) It struck me though that my practice of making a first visit to all new clients was relevant to the handling of this client. He is not someone to be visited by a woman. I did wonder, and still wonder, about my own response. Some such words as 'Ah, I'll come back when you've finished dressing?'.

8 So there. The world continues to spin. I hope to see something of David today or tomorrow. I had thought of a bus-ride to Eastbourne. We've spoken about taking such a ride. Like travelling to Hampstead to swim in the pond, or like travelling on London buses for a day - such episodes are always postponable. Yet there does come a time when each has to be done.

9 Send further news.

(Meanwhile, I'll wait until Monday before I visit the Towers again.)

Stayathome.