Sunday, 8th August, 2010.

      Going on from yesterday’s comments, when Bess and I went out this morning, the sun had been up a while.   Though there were misty clouds still floating about, it was a pleasant stroll.
     One of my favourite views is looking across from the top of The Green towards Bronant.   It’s given me a kick each morning for three decades.   All that’s there is a few fields and trees, but – even in Winter – "distance enhances the view".
     Along the edge of the road beyond The Green is a broad(ish) strip of grass along which I can still pick out the remains of the track made by the padding paws of my little Gypsy who went along there almost every day of her life – a full twelve years.   Seeing that track fills me, each morning, with a sense of sad nostalgia.   Such a feeling is sweet – as long as I control it and do not dwell on times-past too much.
     I am a victim of my own history, and I "feel" other folk’s history all around me whether it be in the countryside or in some town or city.   I ponder on how they lived, how they struggled with their own sorrows, how they coped with Life in general.   I become angry that so many people were kept so poor by the Ruling Classes.
     And yet there was love in their lives.   That fact alone calms my anger.   We must not forget those who went before;  not just the famous, but the ordinary people who made it possible for the famous to become famous.
     There was a mist on the edge of Pen-y-Bannau and the same mist was just lifting from the tops of the Cambrian Mountains where the Teifi Pools lie.   I have seen such scenes before, at all times of year, but each time the scene is different.
     For many years I have known – deep, deep down within – that I live where I should live.   I am at one with my surroundings.   I know how the countryside "holds together".
     I understood, of course, how Wolverhampton "held together", how that urban sprawl "worked".   I miss the Wolverhampton of my childhood enormously – it is all still there in my mind.   The people who lived around me in those glorious, love-filled days are still part of me.
     Yes, my life with Rosie has been beyond wonderful and I have been so happy just being her husband.   I have enormously joyful memories of our married life, and great happiness stems from recalling the houses which she and I – and young Liz – have lived in together.   Had I not met Rosie, I believe I would have remained a bachelor all my life.
     Nevertheless, the importance of my youthful upbringing gives me that sweet, sad nostalgia still – and that feeling pleases me as I grow old gracefully.
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