With Halloween season upon us, the neighbourhood is sprouting gravestones, white-sheet ghosts hanging from trees and no doubt the local children will be trick-or-treating in due course. I would like to take the festival back to its roots, as a rememberance for the Souls who have left us during the year.
It seems that we have
lost a large number of friends in these last few months. Perhaps it is
inevitable; as we get older, so do our friends, and as our circle of
acquaintances increases in size, so do the chances of losing some along
the way. None of that logic makes it any easier.
We remember our friends:
Diane's partner Toby Archer
Alzonia, a neighbour with whom I used to go walking
Dave Hall, purveyor of fine coffee and banter in his shop, Texspresso
Alan's colleague Kate Kneebone
John Agnew of Rougham Airfield
Greg Poe, aerobatic pilot
Frans Dely, aviation photographer
Our beautiful little cat Bandit
and while I never met Steve Jobs or Dennis Ritchie, their influence in our household is profound.
They are missed.