Saturday

FAMILY...

was the theme of a packed and extremely interesting meeting organised by Family and Youth Concern in London today. Speakers included Professor Brenda Almond, author of The Fragmenting Family (Oxford University Press, £12.99p) who shattered some popular myths, including the idea that cohabitation is at least as good as marriage, that genetic relationships don't matter, and that what adults do in their personal lives cannot seriously harm their children. She spoke in a quiet, almost hesitant, academic way and was thoughtful and powerfully convincing - no ranting or moralising. Her essential message was that legal and social structures have been erected that are fracturing the family unit and tipping the balance in favour of the state - a scenario that is having devastating consequences. There was a bookstall at the meeting with a range of extremely interesting books and other materials: Patricia Morgan's book on marriage and cohabitation challenging the fashionable cliches is particularly interesting, as is her report on the realities of "gay" adoption

LONDON SUMMER....

The warm weather has begun. Cycled back from the meeting - which was in Piccadily - via Green Park and The Mall, busy with tourists. Out in the suburbs, the big stacks of litter have begun to fill the sides of main roads, including lots of bottles which shatter into broken shards to pierce cycle-tyres. I average eight to ten punctures each summer, and it's quicker (though more expensive) to fit a new inner-tube than to spend ages struggling to get the tyre off, repair the split (which is easy) and then replace tube and tyre (which is not).

The gooseberries are ripening in the garden, and soon I'll be picking them to make jam: I make lots of it (most satisfying) and sell it in jars with gingham tops and printed labels (done on computer, with bits of poetry or other agreeable quotes) to sell at the "Towards Advent" Festival at Westminster Cathedral Hall in the Autumn (Nov 3rd, mark your diaries)....

On summer evenings it's lovely to sit out with a gin-and-tonic, and talk and eat, bring out the lantern as it gets dark and brewing coffee... It's quiet at the back and we usually can't hear too many of the Saturday-night shrieks and curses from the main road nearby unless there are more than usually large gangs of drunks...though each of the past few summers has brought its share of fights and police sirens - once police asked us all if they could search our front gardens for a murder weapon (stabbing incident) and once Jamie was attacked and badly bashed on his way home from work (thugs wanted his mobile phone but picked the wrong chap, and didn't get it - he gave chase instead, called the police and eventually one got caught).

Outside my window here where I work, the tall rose-bush is blooming and beyond it is a small but agreeable lush patch of grass. Next door, the little girl, who is extremely bright and friendly, waves and grins as she comes out to play. They are an Indian family and her mother sometimes sends her over to us with a taster of spicy snacks when they're having a family party: I return the compliment with home-made biscuits or cakes. Joe, who lives opposite, is surveying his pride-and-joy garden: he has lavender bushes from which he always allows me to pick generously. Summer in suburbia.