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Tony Grist

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Reasons Not To Be Cheerful [Feb. 5th, 2007|10:20 am]
Tony Grist
The phone rang three times after midnight. Each time it was some pre-recorded sales pitch. I grumped off to bed wishing there was some button I could press that would explode the phone at the other end.

The car has to go into the garage to have its gear box fixed. We pulled into a service station on Saturday and suddenly the gear lever was just flopping about in its mounting, unconnected to the gears. Ailz has been ringing  the garage all morning but the word from the receptionist is they're "mowed out" (visions of scythes and/or machine guns). It wouldn't matter so much, but we're booked to go to London at the end of the week and we've already bought tickets for the big exhibitions at the R.A. and Tate Britain.

I always thought a lot about death, but it  never used to be personal. Now I'm continually conscious of the old chap waiting in ambush somewhere up ahead.  Any time now he could step out onto the path in front of me, scythe on shoulder, wagging his boney fore-finger. Two quotes from turn of the century literary panjandrums march up and down in my head,  trajectories crossing. "Death must be an awfully big adventure". "So this is it, that distinguished thing".
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Comments:
[User Picture]From: jackiejj
2007-02-10 04:53 pm (UTC)
I turn off my phone at night.

Anyway, Tony, I am so sorry about your car break-in. Isn't that the second time this has happened?

As for death, my mother talks about it EVERY TIME we are together. She is eighty-seven, and frail. She says she sometimes feels her family (her dead relatives) around her in the room at night, something other old people have told me.
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[User Picture]From: poliphilo
2007-02-12 10:52 pm (UTC)
Yes, that's the second time.

I remember my grandmother wanting to talk about death and me being too embarrassed to take her up on it. I wish now I'd been a little wiser.

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