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Yesterday

A year ago yesterday I first received the news about Mark.

Yesterday I went to a talk, presented by a magnificent head. The body might be that of a well- kept older gent, the face was that of a Hollywood Caeser, chiselled, aquiline and fascinating in a sexless way, the white hair and ice chip blue eyes distracting from the unavoidable suspicion that he was taking this opportunity to show us his holiday snaps. The next talk is by 'King' Arthur Pendragon, who has been arrested 44 times. The last time I saw Arthur, we were out there with the druids on primrose hill, and he brushed my face with a rose, calling me a Fairy Queen. The most memorable time before that was when we both attended a wedding and he challenged larians to a 'wizards' duel', determined to coax my man into joining the Loyal Arthurian Warband. For all his rock and roll lifestyle, he has played a major part in gaining public access to Stonehenge for solstices, and that's quite an achievement. Maybe I'll go.

I also met Mark's best friend whose recovery from those catastrophic times last year appears excellent, his beard luxurious, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling. We sat and talked a while. He is writing again.

My visit to the doctor was mainly good. There's another test he wants to run to be absolutely sure, and I'll go back tomorrow for it. Suddenly I am worried that I may die before resolving Mark's work, leaving my work and Mark's work unfinished for the next member of the old crew, who themselves will die before sorting Mark's work, my work and their work and so on ad infinitum, until the last chum croaks under an avalanche of unfinished projects and rehomed cats.

Psh. Mark, I am sorry to be so slow, Hope you are OK, if you are at all x
 

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