It was beautiful this morning in Wimbledon - a thick frost on the ground; a clear blue sky - and I looked out onto the garden from the room that I've been sleeping in - well, on and off - since 1961, and everything seemed very quiet and peaceful...
Oh, come on: let's try that again. It was still dark when I got up - got up finally, because I couldn't stop myself checking the news all the way through the night (what did I expect? that Trump would keel over with the stress of it all? That a missile would land on DC?), and in any case, I was just so worried about what's going to happen. Trump's speech - and no, I couldn't prevent myself watching it, mitigated a tiny bit by doing so on BBC, with bemused, horrified, cynical, wry bits of commentary accompanying it. It was certainly not a speech addressed to me, as a non-citizen of the US, and it didn't exactly encourage me to race for citizenship (unless I should do so immediately, so I don't get deported when I demonstrate). And in any case, I couldn't sleep for anxiety about the paper I'm giving tomorrow; anxiety about my parents; anxiety, anxiety, anxiety. I was, let's just say, grateful for the sunshine here, and deeply glad that it rained on the Orange One's parade.
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