Crawley means Crow’s clearing/settlement, so it seems fitting to watch crows in Crawley High Street. They were a set, but not really a group (a murder?) as they seemed to be picking riches just for themselves, and getting very uncomfortable if you looked at them; so almost nothing like the town named after them then.

Went to a Thomas Bennett reunion at the Tilgate. The best they had was Fosters, but I still drank loads and had a rite good time.

Met up with and regonized Kevin and Caroline (nee Price) Cunningham, who have come up from Plymouth. He still plays the trumpet and dj’s; like he did when I took my pet brick on a string lead to the disco at the St. John’s hut in the mid 70’s.

Also Stephen MacColcloclolane, who remembered me from my first year at Bishop Bell (a bishop of blessed memory, the school now has a toss name because of a darlek head renaming it to prove she was in charge). Steven remembered me getting digestive biscuits at milk time, because of my diabetes. This proved to be the thing that most that remembered me remembered; probably. A fair number told me I had not changed. Not sure about that. Looking like you looked when you were five is probably not something Gok would cheer.

It was a lovely night, but it will become better if folk get in touch, especially the editor of Farming Weeekly.

Walking ‘home’ was good. It was a journey that usually passed through pain in my
youth. Now it was a sharp winter’s night from warmth to warmth, with the warmth of knowing I have a beautiful girlfriend to glow over me.

My mother was doing her, wake up in the small hours and go downstairs to do, prayers when I got home. Just adding to another average day for me.