Today is notable for three things. More really, but I'm only going to write about two.
The first is that it's the thirtieth anniversary of the Erebus disaster. This is my blog, so here's what I think of when I think of Erebus. Mrs Marsden from our high school's photocopy room, was on the flight, a dream flight for herself and her husband. She painted in her spare time, and always signed her paintings with a rose - her middle name was Rose. She was nice.
Her daughter, Janine, was suddenly an orphan, and she went to live with the Headmaster's secretary and her husband. She got School C by aegrotat, and the last time I saw her was when I was in hospital in seventh form for appendicitus. She was there, too, recovering from a burst appendix. But I always remember seeing her just after they'd confirmed there were no survivors. She was a hilarious, easy-going person, and here she was, the stuffing knocked out of her, remote, lost in her own thoughts.
The next thing about today. I worked with Helen at the shop today, and a chap came in, with his mum, his wife and his ten-week-old son in train. So far, so gorgeous. He got down and took his mum's shoes off and helped her get our ones on. Three times. His wife sneakily paid for them while he did it. The ten-week-old snurgled on in his stroller. They were all funny and nice and didn't appear disfunctional at all. When I popped out to get coffee for us later, I saw them walking verrrry slowly down the street, him carrying all her bags from ladies' clothing shops. Chatting and giggling together. Gorgeous.
When we got home tonight, Sweeney took my shoes off for me. I know it's just because he likes to undo the buckles, and because he thought I wouldn't notice, so it'd end up being a hilarious prank when I stood up and my shoes came off, but I got a little teary at just how nice he is sometimes.
And I stood up and pretended to be amazed when my shoes came off. He damn near exploded on the spot with glee.