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Ma’s leg re-dressed yesterday at the hospital, I went with her. It looked very much better than could be expected, considering the size of the wound, and the bruising.

I went to the scene of the accident, then had a look at the trolley with her, and worked out exactly what happened and how. The front wheels can turn freely, which makes maneuvering easier, but one obviously got trapped sideways on the very low ridge between the road and the curb; her momentum carried her over; and one of the brakepedals that stick out the back scraped up her leg. Not so much a cut as rupture with a blunt instrument.

Dad is getting better, but very slowly, and with new bizarrenesses. He actually shouted at me: Glyn, tell her off! When ma was ordering him to go back to bed.

And thus on to the reason I am writing this. I would have noted the above, but not tonight.

I watched a Time Team on this computer I saw bits of this morning. I had looked at the tv listings and was sure there was there was a big choice of bugger all on tonight, hence the digital repeat. It finished just after ten, and I went downstairs to get some pop, and then checked the listing again.

Simon Gray

I was shocked to discover a programme about a man I had talked to a year ago. Playwright Simon Gray, The Smoking Diaries and the screenplay for A month in the Country. I met him at the ICA showing of the film. He was the main guest and I talked to him afterwards as I was waiting for Kate Shaw to come out, and he was having a cigarette.

He struck me as an astute and decent man, but I had so much else to say about the day I do not think I dropped his name in the blog.

I was shocked when I found out he had died just 6 weeks later, but seeing the documentary today was in many ways more shocking. I knew of the Smoking Diaries, and other work he had done, but only in a pub quiz answer kind of way. What I had was an intimate knowledge of one astonishing screenplay, and a few minutes chat with the man.

I now know far more of the man, but can see a little bit more of myself as well. I do not smoke, but the mother and the drink are there, and his views on writing makes me ponder.
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