No.. I look at my "friends". My "acquaintances”... those that are married... Pleased I am not 'shackled to the past’ ... pleased that I can fall in the street door... fall over the accumulated rubbish, fall onto the bed... into oblivion, just as I am... No 'Hello's' No 'Good-bye's'. I do not have to say anything...
If I should want to speak, then I do so to the plants or the Computer, which occasionally tries to be clever, insisting that some of its words are better than my own. I swear at it, unable to see why it prefers 'webfoot' to Weymouth. No, quite content with my isolation... It has been a long time now, could never slip back into domesticity, no more time for all that, for long languid days in bed... at the beach... wherever... going here, going there. No time now available for other people... for ladies who write long letters from distant countries... beautiful, stiff, upright, clear, the words marching across each page. Long appropriate passages from Shakespeare, questions...why I am not prepared to visit them? That I am playing with their feelings. I write back, attempting to reassure them... I make excuses; tell small lies to help them with their isolation... their loneliness. Eventually they realize that there is little intention on my part of flying to Far off places to visit them, that my only concern. My only escape from each incessant day is the thought that I will be allowed just one more trip 'Home' to Thailand, that where ever else, must remain. There is no time, any one who would conceivably wish to see me must come to Clapton Common or Soi Bouchow... as one of my sons did. He decided that he would like to see me ... after thirty two years, decided to meet me at Bangkok Airport... flying up from Australia... much to my amazement.
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