It was bound to happen and now it has. We in the slow lane of the swimming pool were joined by someone new. Someone with no manners. They are fairly rare – those with no manners. So now there were two. Two people, totally oblivious to the existence of others, in the same lane of the same pool at the same time. To be fair they may each have a condition or be on a spectrum but, be that as it may, the inevitable happened. They collided. One of them once with me and I coped but more importantly with each other. And not just once. And neither was pleased at all. They each seemed bewildered the first time it happened and rather cross the second. The third time it was not good at all. And they made it known. I happened to catch the eye of one of my fellow swimmers, one with good manners, and we smiled. We didn’t gloat but for my part I didn’t mind that it had happened. What I now wonder is whether either will have learned from the experience. Perhaps time will tell.

PS They are both of a similar age, gender and ethnicity.

In a recent television documentary about the Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama she was recorded as saying, “Now that my life is entering its last phase I am putting all my energy into my art.” I’m not sure when the documentary was made but she is now 92 and still working. I find Kusama and her work fascinating and her life story no less so.

Her comment made me wonder where I am putting my energy and, more than that, where I am putting my naturally decreasing energy. For many younger people, I suspect, old age is presumed to be a time of gently, ‘winding down’. I’m not convinced that is the case. Of course there are some things that I used to be able to do that I can’t do now. Playing tennis is now totally beyond me and I can’t hop. My memory for dates is not great but then it never has been. Then there are things I can do that I’ve promised my family I won’t do. Such as going up a ladder when there’s no one else here. But within those limitations where do I put my energy? What is my aim in life?

My paternal grandmother, with whom I was close, told me of a young woman who went to visit her. Whether her visitor went for advice or just to visit I don’t know but I do know that my grandmother asked what was her aim in life. Her visitor said, ‘To be happy’. That did not go down well. Happiness, my grandmother told me, was a result not an aim. I doubt she knew of Ravindranath Tagore’s “I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy.” But she would certainly have rejoiced in that.

And, of course, it’s not simply energy it’s energies. And it’s not just one aim there are many. Years ago in conversation with Bishop John Taylor, a great and holy man, I told him of my worry that I wasn’t following God’s plan for me. He told me, and I believe him still, that there’s not a single plan there are a myriad plans always there always ready to be positively fulfilled. He explained to me that failure was never a conclusion and that there was, always, the possibility of a positive fulfilment.

So my energies are being directed into swimming and going to church, gardening and playing patience, cooking both for myself and for friends, saying my prayers, listening to music and watching yet again a repeat of Poirot on television and, importantly, conserving my energy to do all these things and more.

We were talking about that in the changing room at the swimming pool. About conserving our energy. I told the others about my daily attempt to improve my ability to stand on one leg. One of my fellow swimmers commented, “I suppose if you have to have an aim in life to be able to put on your trousers while standing up is as good as any.”

A friend has written:

Serendipity
“July 31st “Remote Control”.
“I thought I had lost the remote control for Laetitia”. The name was new to me. So was the word. In Bath, when the sun is shining, I like to go for a walk in the delightful Henrietta Park, a short distance from my home. There are certain park benches which I favour for their seclusion. Sometimes I look at the brass plaque recording the name of the generous benefactor and send an unspoken word of thanks into the empyrean.
August 6th Henrietta Park
I selected a bench I had never sat on before. I read the plaque:-
The Harley Family. Wendy, Eleanor, Bethan, Trevor. Amicitia et risus, Laeta Tempora. Laetae Memoriae.*
In the course of my 91 years l have met the words Laetitia – Laeta for the first time within less than a week.”

* Friendship and Laughter. Joyful Times. Happy Memories

Before a Prom
I went to the Royal Albert Hall on the 360 bus, wearing a mask of course, and, me being me, early. The bus takes nearly an hour and is almost door to door. At South Ken a woman got on, wearing a mask, and glanced at me as if in recognition. I thought I knew her as well. When we got off the bus at the Royal Albert Hall and took off our masks we realised we didn’t know each other at all. However as we were so early and were both going to the Prom we went into the Hall, had a glass of wine together, and put the world to rights. It was most enjoyable and the concert that followed was wonderful.

At the swimming pool
There’s a young Italian who swims four lengths in the fast lane while I swim one in the slow lane. He’s a swimming teacher, he has told me, and is studying to be a Personal Trainer. He has given me a few tips to help me with my swimming and has suggested I learn to ‘love the water’. On Wednesday when I got out of the pool having swum my 500 meters to his 2000 he beckoned me over and said, ‘I watched you. You’re doing really well!’ That was most encouraging.

On the bus
I walk to the swimming pool. It only takes a little over ten minutes. And I usually take the bus back. As it’s about the same time, most days, there are some of the bus drivers who have become familiar to me and, it seems, me to them. They’re almost all friendly and there’s one, a Muslim woman, who always says good morning with the nicest smile when I get on and waves when I get off. It really lifts my spirits.

Payless
‘Paymore’ would be more apt, I’ve always said. And, at Payless, you do pay £1.20 for the same amount of milk that is 80p at the supermarket. However I needed a ripe mango for a cold sauce to go with cold chicken. The sauce was a friend’s suggestion and I was a bit sceptical but I thought I’d give it a go. There was a very ripe mango, a bit black at one end, on the £1 a bowl fruit and veg stall outside Payless. I took it into the shop showing the bad end of the mango to one of the staff and asked, “How much?” He said, “Take it, it’s yours.” The sauce was delicious.

At Lil’s Funeral
Lil Chaplin was a parishioner at St Agnes for years. Originally from Jamaica she was very much part of the community and I heard how some of the parishioners, now old, had all, including Lil, when young done things together when their children. Lil hadn’t been well for some time and her death was a release for her. At the Requiem Mass a number of Lil’s family spoke about her, quite briefly and very affectionately. When one of them couldn’t continue, because of the tears, two others got up and came and stood with them, close, to give them strength. And it happened with another. Nothing dramatic. Simply calm and strong and together.

City and Guilds
This week has been the Degree Show at the City and Guilds of London Art School Just across the road. I usually go and keep in touch with the school when there’s something on. This year the work seems especially good but then I think that every year. I’ve had a good talk to one of the stone carvers and one of the painters. I especially liked their work and bought a carving which I hope I can put into a wall. I’m thinking about one of the paintings. The place is alive with creativity and the graduates I spoke to were full of enthusiasm and looking forward to the future.

Walking Back
Walking back from City and Guilds as I passed the bus stop there were quite a few people waiting for a bus so the pavement was crowded and someone was walking towards me, wearing a mask. As we tried to pass each other we did one of those strange dances with each of us stepping in opposite directions so that whichever way we moved we were still face to face so neither of us could go ahead. So I stood still, smiling. I realised then that you can tell if someone wearing a mask is smiling because their eyes crinkle up at the corners. He was smiling too, and passed me, and we each went our separate ways.

Usually, and certainly if the weather is good, I have lunch in the garden – an avocado, some of my terrine perhaps, and salad. The latest terrine includes chicken livers and prunes and is very good. I watch the birds and the birds, especially the robins, watch me. If I get up it’s to deal with the squirrels or the pigeons.

On rainy days I’m inside enjoying and appreciating my house and this beautiful room. I look out into the garden. The menu may be soup, made by me of course. A friend suggested adding a lump of blue cheese to vegetable soup and stirring it in. It works and is delicious.

Earlier this week, when I was in the kitchen thinking about what to have for lunch in the garden, I noticed a large van draw up and park in Braganza Street alongside Kennington Station immediately opposite my kitchen window. Painted on the side were the words, ‘HARRY’S TRIM-IT’, and underneath, Mobile Barber Shop.

Apart from private cars I get quite a range of vehicles parked opposite my house. The day before there had been a pest control van and I’d wondered if I could get them to deal with the squirrels. Pimlico Plumbers are fairly frequent visitors. There are TFL (Transport For London) support vehicles often. Sometimes there’s an ambulance because someone’s ‘had a turn’ on the Underground or something like that. This was the first time I’d seen a mobile barber shop.

The driver got out and rolled back the sliding side door of the van facing me. I could see inside. There was a barber’s chair, facing the front of the van with, I guess, a mirror in front of it. Beyond the chair on the other side of the van there were shelves with various bottles on them, hair creams and so on I imagine. They must have been fixed down or they’d have fallen off going round a corner. Everything must have been fixed down. There was no basin so clearly it was a matter of a cut not a wash.

The driver of the van was now in the ‘shop’ moving about, arranging things it seemed. A customer arrived. Off the street or by appointment I couldn’t tell. The customer was young. He didn’t seem at all surprised to be having his hair cut in a van parked in a street and showed no particular curiosity in his surroundings.

I’ve never seen someone have their hair cut from this angle before. The chair and the customer were in profile. Usually at the barbers, certainly at mine in Kennington Park Road, I’m sitting, waiting my turn, behind the row of chairs. From my kitchen I could see the customer and the barber having a conversation about the style of the impending cut. I couldn’t hear anything of course but the gestures said it all.

Decisions made, away the barber went throwing the cape around the customer and tucking it in to the tissue he’d wound round his neck. The tissue looked as if it might be loo paper but I wasn’t close enough to see. Then it was on with the job, clippers, a comb, scissors all the usual thing, and the barber standing back from time to time to have a look, just as I’ve been taught at City and Guilds of London Art School – to stand back from the easel to assess how the work in progress is progressing. The barber and the customer chatted. Probably about football, I thought.

Standing at my kitchen bench (New Zealand) worktop (U.K.) countertop (U.S.) looking out through my Venetian blinds I had a very good view of the hair cut though I wasn’t close enough to see the detail. The barber did take a lot of trouble and time – longer than my barber takes – but then the customer had more hair than I have. When he’d finished there was more discussion. The barber held up a mirror so the customer could see the back. The customer nodded so he must have been happy with the result. I saw him pay. Cash not card. I couldn’t tell how much.

After the customer had left the barber swept up, put things away, came out of the van, closed the sliding door, climbed into the driving seat and drove away.

While I was watching I had managed to have an avocado, on toast, for my lunch.