Goodbye

                                                                                     Mountain river

 Dear Reader

If I had to go on a march for something it would be to stop water companies polluting our rivers with sewage.  This is an unacceptable thing to do, absolutely disgusting. Here is a quote from The Daily Telegraph this week: Liz Garfield, the chief executive of Severn Trent, said spending more money on reducing sewage overflow into rivers would not have been good business because it had not been of concern to the public until recently. She went on to say that she thought it was a consequence of people connecting with nature during the Covid-19 lockdowns that had shifted public opinion. She also said that water companies had been investing £12 billion into river quality as a sector over the last few years.

Water companies are allowed to release sewage into rivers in extreme circumstances such as heavy rainfall, to flooding homes.  But data collected since 2020 has shown storm overflow systems are being  used on a daily basis in a potential breach of licences.

Ms. Garfield is one of the highest paid chief executives in the industry, earning £2.8 million in 2020.

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I simply can't imagine earning that amount of money for whatever job I did, especially perhaps that one.

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• A short extract from "Half a Pair of People' my book to come out soon. 
  

chapter 4

A Youthful Fantasy Realized

     

 

Until 1950 I lived near Windsor, so for many years of childhood was

able to enjoy the famous Windsor pantomime. Each year I looked

forward to it and was never disappointed. After the war children had

few treats so perhaps the ones we did have seemed extra

memorable. It was at a production of Cinderella in 1947 – a vintage

year – that I vowed I would one day perform in a pantomime myself.

     Some thirty-five years later, a friend lunching with me in Oxford

announced that the Chipping Norton Amateur Dramatic Society

were auditioning for Dick Whittington the following evening

Here then, was my chance to fulfill the childish ambition to be in a

pantomime. Chipping Norton is twenty-seven miles from Oxford and

and this, in itself, should have been the best reason for not

embarking on this particular venture. My twelve-year-old Renault 5

was temperamental enough in the warm months; in the winter it

frequently could not, or would not, start at all. The heating worked 

erratically, petrol was expensive but this then was my chance to fulfill my childish ambition.

                                                              * 

 

Goodbye

Why is it I can't ever
say goodbye to anyone, anytime,
without my throat contracting,
my eyes awash with tears,
a desperate feeling
of emptiness overwhelming me?

All those things I was
going to say but never did,
whirling about in my head.
The words I meant to say
but left unspoken,

that thanks I meant to write
but left virgin cream paper
on the shelf,
the love I meant to tell
imprisoned in my heart.

Don't shake my hand,
hug me,
kiss my cheek,
catch my eye.

I will dissolve.
Can only turn away,
blinded, speechless.

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With very best wishes, Patricia