No More Carefree Laughter, Silence Ever After

[What we in the TenderNob are thinking about this week...]

[The slow, slow process of ejecting our problematic roommate is in the home stretch, it seems. As I type, he's bobbling about his former bedroom, removing a sock here, a hollowed-out pen there. I truly, madly, deeply hope his absence from our lives will relieve John of the sadness and strain he's been courageously trying to sublimate.]

[If that doesn't work, we are a mere five days from our somewhat daffy, planned-at-the-last-minute trip to London (And the hideous jowls seen in my recently acquired passport picture sent me on a long, sweaty, beautiful power walk over Nob and Russian hills today...) How odd that the last time I was in the U.K., Her Majesty's subjects were celebrating 25 years since her accession, and this year, from what I read, no one much cares that she's made it to her Golden Jubilee. From what I remember, the Silver Jubilee was all anyone could talk about in 1977. Souvenirs, bunting, stories in the newspaper and on telly, the works. We even went to a pageant in my grandmother's cousin's Yorkshire village, where some local teen was crowned Miss Bradley Silver Jubilee or something. Things have changed. (And where is Miss B-S-J today? Working in some Leeds chip shop, I imagine.)]

[Of course, the only thing I remember firsthand from that very pivotal year in British music is the Knowing Me, Knowing You video on Welsh TV, so maybe the memories of a cosseted seven-year-old aren't all that reliable. That won't stop me from sneaking into Harrod's and buying a golden souvenir spoon for my grandmother, of course.]

[Oh, and this. I believe him, of course, and understand his reasons. As I do with another missed fave, I also hope he'll be back one day.]

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