A day of cogitation

RAIN. I feel sorry for all the children who have to go to school this Monday morning – any morning.

I keep thinking about Derek. As I was leaving last night he grabbed my sleeve. And when I turned round he stared at me and, imploringly almost, said ‘George – what am I FOR?’

Well I couldn’t help him with that one. But all the same, it was a strange thing to say, wasn’t it?

Just one thing, before we go any further: I should like to put a stop to all these rumours (if the cap fits…) about my (possible) bride-to-be.
Anna – as she has asked me to call her - had a convent education in Gothenburg, and was subject to strict discipline during her adolescence, and possibly later. And it shows: she deports herself with great dignity on those long legs; she does not smoke, chew gum, bite her nails or pick her nose; she makes only a little noise whilst eating (I could work on this), and I have only ever heard the tiniest of farts issue from that beguiling bottom.
In short: a woman any man would be proud to take down the pub.

Why on earth she wanted to come to England I cannot imagine. Sweden has not been involved in any war for almost two centuries, and has no current international disputes. The citizens just quietly get on with minding their own business. Something certain other countries would do well to emulate.

I know Anna wants to marry me and so acquire the status of ‘wife of a British national’. But that cuts both ways. It has occurred to me that I would be the 'husband of a Swedish national'! I have been looking up Gothenburg on the Internet and it’s a damn sight more attractive than Swindon. AND the winter days are very short, and the nights very long.
Say no more!
Oh yes. I am beginning to warm to the idea of marriage.