An early bee among mysotis.
A neighbour tells us that while, planting a crab apple tree, she punctured a gas main. Apparently there was a sinister hissing from beneath the ground, which she quickly covered with earth, before calling British Gas.
The curiosity, which I have always possessed, and which I cannot throw off, and wouldn't if I could, becomes a nag as I grow older. In the same way as the late Clement Freud recorded, some time ago, that he had reached an age when there was no longer an incentive to lay down new vintages of claret, so I feel a pang of regret, when I read that in the next 2o years the new form of power generation called fusion reaction will at last be possible. When it is, it will , by the fusion rather than the fission of nuclei, recreate the heat of the sun in a manageable form, and use no fuel-source other than sea water. Impossible? I'll never know.
if you could leave us a forwarding address ...
And neither will I. But then other people wouldn't know what it was like to live in the days of black and white television and cars with running boards ...
I've often thought that, June. It is some sort of compensation, I suppose. It's not the comfort that one may miss, of course, but knowing what's going to happen. Like the next episode of a soap opera.
Take heart. You may also escape the unexpected side-effects of developing systems that ape the sun. Or, even more likely, disasters brought about by operatives who - despite being equipped with a foolproof system - demonstrate that mankind's tendency to espouse foolishness is virtually infinite.
Systems like the mechanized loom?
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