London

A medley of dinners with friends and other jolly events are streaming by me in a sunny springtime London: last night a gourmet meal at Kathy and Dan’s in Islington where the whole family takes part in the cooking. Then we watched  Mike Leigh’s ‘Abigail’s Party’ because we, the adults, felt that it must be part of a balanced cultural education for their teenage children . I don’t believe it has aged at all and if the cheese and pineapple was exchanged for, say, mini blinis and Demis Roussos was exchanged for Justin Timberlake (?) it would all be just as relevant today.
 

Before that came an interesting evening here in my flat with the formidable Alice Walpole (centre under lamp) who is arriving in Mali after the end of Ramadan, so towards end July , to take up her post as the new British Ambassador when the delightful football playing Jo Adamson leaves . Jo also came for dinner on her recent visit. I am hoping to engage Alice  in some way in the BL project at the Djenné Manuscript Library.  Jo was so kind to us and gave us the great evening in a smart Bamako hotel  in January 2015 which ended a conference of Malian manuscripts that had been organized by UNESCO. That event raised our status and 'put us on the map' as a force to be reckoned with albeit of course still in the shadow of Timbuktu.
 It is perfect to have my flat back again to entertain this time. It is normally let and I stay with friends.

On Friday there was a vernissage at the European commission and on Monday there is the yearly Europe Concert organized by my pal  Jeremiah-more poignant this year than ever just before the British referendum...

And then on Tuesday I am having open house again: Tuesdays were always the evening when people popped into see me here in Ladbroke Grove- ‘Sophie’s Salon’ as some people called it somewhat pretentiously.

And best of all: next Friday I am leaving for Sao Paulo for a ten days visit to Andrea with some Malimali promotion thrown in.

I gratefully grab hold of all these events  to prevent myself from sitting alone becoming tearful and looking at old pictures of those  happy times with Keita  in Mali which will now never return.