Onwards

Noi is busy baking another set of delicious scones and ensuring she uses up all the eggs purchased the other day as we prepare to motor up to some resort near Genting Highlands to join the family (well, a number of those who can make it) for a day and night together. On my side, I've managed to get some necessary marking done and other bits and pieces of work whilst Noi has put the house in good order. I'll be packing for the journey and preparing for Friday Prayers soon, but I'm now listening to the utterly brilliant eight-man version of the Crimson King making Epitaph sound as fresh and alive as the day it was written (long ago in what seemed, in its way, the most positive decade of the twentieth century. But even then as Peter Sinfield knew too well: I fear tomorrow I'll be crying. Indeed. We may think we're moving onwards but nothing really changes.)