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Cover shot

December 7, 2022

Here we go again. I understand that the damage to the power and communications lines was bad. The twelve-hour power outage on Sunday was only meant to provide a temporary solution and I really was thrilled when it did more than reinstate full mobile service. I was thrilled that the internet was back on Monday morning and that my landline was once again fully functional. But it turns out all these things really were, as it were, hanging on by a thread. So, today and tomorrow the power is switched off from 7am to 6pm as they struggle for a more permanent fix. (I say “permanent”, but of course we’ll still be susceptible to further outages every time there is another blizzard or big wind storm. No one is showing any inclination to spend the fortune it would cost to bury the lines, rather than having them overhead, so no “fix” is actually permanent.)

Made a big batch of soup yesterday in the hope that, what with having a woodstove and a generator, I might be able to lure some people over this afternoon for hot soup and a game of trivial pursuit or cards, but there were no takers. 

I may have already written about my all-time favourite game of trivial pursuit, but never mind. Here goes. It was at my house in Vancouver sometime in the mid or late 1990s. One of the other players was my friend Rowan who knew that if I got all my pieces of pie and ended up in the middle the obvious category for the other players to choose was orange – sports and leisure. Yes, there was a chance that the question would fall under leisure, such as this one I remember: With what do you rim a Margarita glass? But there was a far greater chance that the question would be about sport – any sport – and I would be stopped in my tracks. Well, I did get into the centre with all my pieces of pie and orange was chosen. Rowan pulled a card out of the box, looked at the question and laughed out loud. Oh, fuck, I thought. Then she asked the question: Who won the FA cup final in 1976? Oh, fuck, I said out loud. And then it hit me. Wait a minute. 1976? I was visiting my aunt and uncle that weekend and we watched the game together. It was Man U against some other team that wasn’t expected to win. Because my Uncle Perce liked a flutter and because I’m a contrarian I bet him 50p the other team would win and they did. Their star player was Mick Shannon, famous for his corner kicks. I racked my brain and suddenly it came to me: Southampton! Rowan’s jaw dropped and she demanded to know how the fuck I knew that. Of course, if the question had been about any other year (including, probably, the previous year) I would not have had a clue. But in 1976 I’d been paying attention – and won 50p from Perce.

Anyway…

No takers on soup and a game. I could just curl up with a book, which indeed I might. Or I could make a start on the next newsletter. I’d already decided what the cover was going to be.

I’d asked the photographer mate who’d come to take pictures on opening night to make sure he snapped a lot of the dance at the ball. I do love this one – and the others he took.

Honestly, how fucking romantic is this?

But when I went through the photos he gave me on a memory stick on Sunday, I knew the dance would have to go inside, because this was the cover shot.

I mean, seriously, what else could it be?

Perhaps I will get on with that.

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