Beating time, but time is beating me

It was Kenny’s birthday yesterday, and today he came round to visit the children. I arrived as he was settling back into his nim cart to go home again and I went to say hello and say happy birthday. “Eighty-nine” he remarked. He looks the same as ever, you know, and if it weren’t for his irretrievably damaged spine – he spent too many years working too hard – he’d be feeling well too. However, he told me that there’s blood coming from somewhere, the doctors aren’t sure where but it doesn’t look too good. “Can’t go on forever,” he said matter-of-factly.

I had been into school for a Year 9 music lesson. West African drums today – asked for countries in that part of the continent, one boy did impressively well. I joined in and it needs a good degree of concentration, especially when different groups are playing in different rhythms. A few shrunk back from trying too hard and a couple of boys, who take private lessons, were particularly good and I noticed them watching the others and deliberately giving them a strong lead. I mentioned it to the teacher afterwards.

It rained last night, sunny again this morning. I should be working or outside. I’m neither.

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