He read out the whole article to me over a period of two days as I prepared supper. Written for The Guardian by a Punjabi journalist and film-maker, it’s main premise was a plea for an end to public library closures. Growing up in poverty in Wolverhampton he wrote feelingly about the impact (he ended up studying English at Oxford) that access to library books had on his life. The self-same library that he used to walk the two miles to each Saturday with his father is now derelict. Though I did grow in the same need, I can concur with his love and celebration of public libraries. They fed my child too. Oh, the pleasure of being able to choose a book for myself. It was almost too much, like standing in a sweetshop and being told you can have anything you like, price or sweetness no object.
She’s had a fall and broken hip. She’s now in hospital and the operation was yesterday. We’ve heard nothing since. Poor poor love. She’d come so far with her walking. I wish her the will to start again. I hope she knows how much she is loved.
