Tempus fugit

Doesn't it just?  To think that today is the 11th anniversary of those dreadful events in New York.  And back in July we had the 7th anniversary of the London bombings.  Next month it will be 38 years since the Provisional IRA blew up the Grand Hotel here in Brighton.

Why can't people just live and let live?

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I have failed to mention the numerous offers of help we have received over the last couple of months, help with transport, help with shopping.  But the palm d'or must surely go to Doug whose persistence eventually wore me down.  On Monday last week he turned up with his lawn mower.  First, he cleared the garden of all the dog's mess, I having not managed to get down to do it.  Then he mowed the lawns not once but twice on different settings.  What's more, he came back on Tuesday and mowed them again!  And he is insisting on doing the job again today.  That's what I describe as being above and beyond the call of duty - or even friendship.

David will be coming with Doug and the three of us will be trying to take further our plans for the Lions Christmas service activities.  We are well on the way with plans for 60 elderly people to have afternoon tea at a seafront hotel.  One hotel has offered us the exclusive use of their bar area for the afternoon along with tea at a very good price.  We have booked an entertainer but what we do need to finalise is the transport - and the guests!  Oh, and some small gifts for them to take away.

The other activity is to take place on Christmas morning when we plan to deliver small gifts to people who will otherwise see nobody that day.  We have managed to find a source of names and addresses but we do need commitment from Lions so that we can plan just how many people we can visit as each Lion will be able to cover only three or four.  And, of course, we need to think about the gifts.

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I have pretty well exhausted my supply of bridge pictures from the continent so we are now back in England.  Just a few miles along the coast the River Adur reaches the sea at Shoreham.  Until not so very many years ago, the main road along the south coast crossed the river on this rather rickety bridge, owned by the railway company which charged a small toll to cross.