Daughter leaves

Packaging in the hall, on the stairs, bike rack on the car, claiming of cutlery and milkpan, heaps of old 'A' level notes on the floor, as E prepares for uni.

Daughter gone

She sobs. Floods of tears, car full to the ginnels, tyres nearly flat! Daddy drives her away.

Giving up passwords

I nearly never blogged here again because I forgot my password and even though I followed the get-an-email-and-log-on-here-to-change-your-password procedure, it still asked for my old password. Must be because I use Netscape.

Where do I blog?

Where do I blog? In a sun lounge that is too hot to work in on a sunny afternoon, too cold to work in on a winter's morning, there is an old bank desk and a new cupboard where I hide my computer. This is not Virginia Woolf's "Room of one's own" because here all my family come to look for me, to chat, to ask when a meal is, to give me a hug or a kiss, or to complain that I haven't done their laundry, don't know where their swimming costume is. When Raf lived here, he'd come in to play quietly with his toy cars, until his dad would remove him, worrying that a toddler would be bothering me. I miss Raf.

Trying to start blog

Technology prevents.

Starting blog

I was preparing a tutorial on feedback and affordance, so I was looking at the google site to use as an example. Then I found the blog. So here we go.

BTW, it doesn't seem to compose well in Netscape. I have to compose in IE.