It only took an hour this morning to get BT to reset my personal password. I tried it out on the Apple. Cor, it worked. I then transferred all the photos from my My Passport to the new Mac, so I can now operate the whole of my posts directly from the new machine.
After a welcome mother’s day call from Becky, the doorbell buzzed. As Jackie opened the door, a bunch of glorious daffodils entered. The hand attached to the arm following them was Matthew’s. To her great delight, he came with it.
We spent an enjoyable day together, during which Mat and I took Oddie for a walk down to the village shop and back. The thirsty little dog emulated the ponies, which he otherwise actually ignored, by drinking from roadside rainwater.
On our return I watched England scrape a rugby victory against a much improved Italian side. Neither Mat nor Jackie is a fan, so we also conversed about other things, with the TV volume very low.
I then came to select the third photograph in Elizabeth’s ‘Derrick through the ages’ series. It was then that I received a most pleasant surprise from my iMac. The chosen photo is from a 1960 print about two inches square with a crack across the middle of it. I had worked on it with the Photoshop application in my older Mac about three years ago. It was still in need of considerable improvement when I gave it to Elizabeth last year. It was that still blemished version that my sister used for her slideshow. When I bought my new computer a few days ago, Joe had shown me that it was possible to enhance pictures with it. Today, I hadn’t much confidence in my ability to find that facility, but in fact it was quite straightforward. Not only that, but it was far simpler to use than my six year old Photoshop. I was able to produce a version of the damaged portrait that is beyond all recognition.
This photograph was taken by Vivien and printed by her brother, Bernard. As will be instantly apparent, I was leaning on a rail near the Tower of London. This was on one of our lunchtime walks from our workplace at Lloyd’s of London during the year we met. Vivien typed my work in the General Average office of that celebrated Marine Insurance establishment. We would walk around the City during our breaks. Little did either of us then know that I would, more that twenty years later, run three London marathons which included the cobblestones by that very spot. Or that she would have less than five years to live (see 17th July 2012).
Oven fish and chips was our evening fare. Treacle sponge and custard was to follow.
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