More weekend

Today I actually did plant some seeds, sweet peas, basil, nicotiana suaveolens and cerinthe major.  Very pleasing to have made a start.

We then went out for a bit of culcha - to Margate - heard Jamie M playing some agreeable jazzy/poppy stuff - I didn't realise he sang as well... quite a funny version of "She's not there".

We left the bar and went to the Turner - it was foggy and bitterly cold, as though the air was full of ice (technically it is/was).  There was a rather mixed up exhibition: Rosa Barba's installations of projectors etc. was evocative, and there was an especially good film of aerial views of landscape, the Thames estuary, mud, the seaforts etc.   There was also Carl Andre on show in a single room.  At least I now understand what he was about - there is something quite attractive about Minimalism like that.  His poetry was - er, well,  I can't remember exactly what "concrete poetry" is, but CA's work seemed reminiscent of what I remember of it.   There was a poem called "Dithyramb" which the note beside it said was based on words found in "old stories " - it appeared that nearly all of the words were Biblical in fact and why this couldn't have been stated is a little odd.  Perhaps the curator had never read the Gospels.  There was also a novel called Shooting Script which I thought was quite interesting, in a BS Johnson sort of way.

I have spent a lot of time getting to grips with my smartphone, but am pleased to report I have now phoned, texted, read emails, FB and Twitter, and Googled, as well as taking some photos.  It won't replace the laptop - and I'm certainly not going to stuff it full of music.

M cycled home, and I drove Ned  back from his lunchtime bar work, we had tea and I made a spectacular supper.  Finn announced he did not want any.  Oscar was here, so Finn wants to be with him... not us.

We made a fairly momentous decision that we would risk booking a gite in the Ile de France for the last week in August - so that we can have day trips to Paris and see Fontainbleau and Versailles again (I'd like to see the Petit Trianon and the Potager du Roi).  If M does get the Hammill brickwork job, then it should be manageable... I have enough birthday money to rent a gite for a week, and the cross-channel ferry or whatever, a few meals out and some shopping shouldn't be too much (famous last words).  It is a bit sad that we are finding it so difficult, but this may be Ned's last trip with us (although nowadays people seem to go on hols with their parents into adulthood).  Finn predictably said "Why can't we go to a beach?"
"We have a beach here!" we howled...and M and I spend quite a bit of time on it in summer.  

My father rang - he sounded dreadful - very tired, had been crying I think?  Apparently had watched an episode of Call the Midwife and found it very moving.  The East End setting reminded him of his cousins, Muriel and Doris (?) Lester - who did good works in the East End and were chummy with Ghandi... but he really did seem not himself.  I was a bit loth to get off the phone, but I had just begun watching Michael Handke's White Ribbon and needed to concentrate on the subtitles.  Now I feel rather mean, but I'm not sure if a long conversation was quite what he wanted.  He had had a lovely day with Ben and Sarah (and Coellie I think) at Kew, so perhaps it was just that Sunday evening thing.  I always mean to phone him more, why don't I?

Spring!

I am declaring spring - because yesterday there were 19 different flowering plants in the garden (I will try to recall them all:  lonicera perfusa, euphorbia griffithii, hellebores, crocus, snowdrops, aconite, primrose, iris unguicularis, clematis armandii, the two other white winter clematis, winter jasmine, veronica gentiana, symphytum iberica, vinca alba, violets, the yellow flowering shrub whose name I have forgotten, what on earth were the others? ) and, more significantly, I saw the first bumblebee trolling about in the lonicera.  Then we went out to the vole sanctuary in Sandwich - the path there was astonishingly muddy and most of the paths in the reserve were closed, so we went and stared at the rather grim khaki pond and watched the mallards shovelling their beaks through the wet mud on the banks...

On our way there I saw a magpie carrying a huge stick for nest building, and we stopped at a nursery and bought some plants and some seed compost.  Today I am thinking of planting a few seeds in the propagator (I could kill Mark for selling my electric propagator at the boot sale - by accident). Perhaps this year I can get back into gardening properly.

We also collected a new old fridge from John Brogan - so we have a spare for storing bottles and extra food when we have parties and large gatherings. Life goes on.

A New Year

So, day one of my personal New Year, I am not taking any notice of the number attached to it.   Sadly despite the amazing excitement of the Sun being conjunct my natal sun and it being a time for new initiatives, my only new initiative has been to start reading a book about geology.  This tends to put one's miserable human life in perspective.  So far I have learned a great deal - chiefly that diamonds are not forever, but degrade into graphite over time, and that there was plenty of life before the "Cambrian Explosion" but it didn't leave fossils - however, traces can be found of these diverse things.  Still one wonders why there was this vast evolutionary leap in the Cambrian period?  But perhaps it was just as Dawkins explains it in The Blind Watchmaker.

My birthday was really nice - I went out to WeightWatchers in the morning, was given permission to eat what I liked on the day, then to get back in there the following day.  I then visited Waitrose and bought some nice lunch, bread, prawns, ham and salami, houmous and taramasalata, etc. and we ate those (well, I ate the prawns and the taramasalata - but they ate the other stuff).  We were all at home, since Finn had a cold.  In the afternoon I amused myself with my smartphone - I am getting used to it, but it's annoying...  I also did a certain amount of washing up and kitchen tidying, but didn't mind much, and there was a good play about Dusty Springfield in S. Africa on the radio.  Then we had the fantastic cake the boys had made for me - an almond cake - at my request, with plain butter icing (should have been orange, but no matter) my original suggestion of chocolate butter icing had been forgotten.  It was a surprising cake - rather flat and dense, a bit like eating marzipan - but the only almond in it was essence.  I might do it again one day but with an orange glaze and some roasted almonds on top.

We then had a lovely fire in the dining room - Finn and I made cocktails (Negronis) and we drank those and ate cheese footballs... and then we had fish and chips, accompanied by some of our Christmas Sancerre, followed by pancakes which I made for them earlier.  I made some with grated apple and mixed spice, which were quite nice.  I think I may finally have got the hang of pancakes... it was quite stress free making them.

So now, back to real life.  I wish I felt more inspired and clear about what I was doing and where I was going, but I do actually feel quite positive about it - despite my cold.

Pope fun

Lots of jolly internet postings about the pope - which provides some light relief and a welcome distraction from the horrors of the economy etc. - rather like the Costa Concordia sinking last year.

I suggested that the Pope was retiring to a life of prayer "to spend more time with his rosary" - others have been less charitable.  It is wonderful to see someone following the glorious example of Celestine V - I can think of a number of popes whose retirement would have been even more welcome...

The media speculation cannot possibly last for 3 weeks or more (oh yes it can!).  First speculation (inevitably) "Isn't it time we had an African or Latin American pope?" - this might not be the breath of fresh air/new broom/tired cliche of your choice that the church needs - Anglican African bishops are notoriously conservative and fundamentalist - and I don't suppose the "liberation theology" strand has been very strong in Latin America since Oscar Romero - but then again, I ceased to take an interest in these things, so I may be wrong.  No doubt I will discover interesting opinions (and even a few facts) in the media in the next few weeks.

Second speculation (new broom theme contd.) "Isn't it time we had someone much younger?" - Oh yes, a youthful 55 year old who would then run the church into the rocks for 30 years - great.  Another JP2 perhaps?

Third speculation  "Isn't it time we looked outside the normal candidates to find someone with a different skill set?"  Of course, no one would have imagined that a divorced female lapsed Catholic blogger could become pope - but as she had been elected a cardinal she was technically eligible - and so began the rule of Hadriana VIII.... (with apologies to Fr. Rolfe).

I am pretty sure there is no sinister reason for the Pope to resign - although I await conspiracy theories with some interest.  Already someone has mentioned Alzheimers - although it doesn't seem to have affected his Latin (judging by the extract I heard).

Theological question: can the phrase "Long live the Holy Spirit" actually mean anything? I don't know whether it is a misguided Catholic slogan - a mistranslation - perhaps Viva il Spirito Santo? Or just a slip of the tongue... the HS being an aspect of God  is presumably eternal ... and doesn't exactly live...but I suppose "Hurray for the Paraclete and long may it continue to inspire our lives" is a bit turgid.

It is cold, I am tired, and I am going to bed.  

You can't read this book! Nick Cohen

I've been reading this book intermittently for about 4 months - which is why I don't really have a very coherent argument to make about it.   I came away with the following impressions:

1.  Do not defame anyone in your blog
2.  We do not really have freedom of speech in England because of the libel laws
3.  If your opinion is defamatory you can be sued for it.
4.  Religious groups, chiropractors, businesses and other shady characters will use the libel laws in an horrendous manner.
5.  JS Mill's principle that people should be allowed to do what they want as long as they do not harm anyone else is basically a sound one.
6.  Offending someone is not actually "harming" them.  Religious groups asking for "respect" is a bit unreasonable, and leads towards ludicrous laws.
7.  Britain is actually a remarkably free country and has been for a long time,. but our libel laws are making a mockery of this.

I expect there's more, but these were the things that most struck me.  I was shocked by the way the system makes it almost impossible for whistle-blowers to function in the public and private sectors, and I was pleased with his attack on Wiki-leaks.  He recognises, as I do, that there are certain things that need to be kept secret - a list of the Afghans who have supported the West against the Taliban was an example of something that should not have been released unredacted, as it was. As I have had long had feelings and opinions about Julian Assange, I was quite pleased to read the rather discreditable story about JA having said "Well, they were informers, they deserved to be killed" at a lunch with some journalist. (JA later denied this, but there were several witnesses).  It supports my thesis that JA is either aspergic, or some sort of psychopath whose entire function in the Wikileaks saga has been self-aggrandisement.

I learned a lot from this book - I am not sure how much of it will stick, but it's very much worth reading and I'm glad I did.

Curiously, at present I am more drawn to non-fiction than fiction but....need to read more novels.

No good deed goes unpunished!

I love that phrase, I don't believe in it, but it makes me laugh.  What I planned today was a bit of a re-write - and I started early, before breakfast - but then things slowed down, which is not a bad thing.  Often when I am at my most impatient I am also at my most confused.   So I had an interesting and leisurely chat with Susan our Air BnB visitor - and then offered to take her to the station. It is a beautiful sunny morning, the snowdrops, hellebores, primroses and iris unguicularis are all looking great - and the clematis armandii is beginning to flower already.   So I was full of the joys of spring and stopped to pat one of the anti-Bernards (identical black cats who live in the street) - this particular one is usually very friendly, and was rolling around on our front window sill and enjoying itself, I thought, when it suddenly turned its head and without warning sunk its fangs into my thumb.  It was agony, I could have sworn I heard a crunch... I went into shock - but got in, and with M's help cleaned and bandaged the thumb, which is now, about 45 minutes later, throbbing and painful.  I feel slightly nauseous, the area is red and warm and there is a pain in the base of my hand/wrist - probably the deep-seated infection that will give me encardiitis spreading! (Hypochondriac - moi?  No, just the result of reading the NHS website to tell me what to do). I am waiting for my GP to call me back with advice on antibiotics - tetanus etc.  The pain is probably because I am typing awkwardly because of the bandage.

What annoys me is that I was being nice to the cat - a cat which has previously allowed me to pick it up quite happily...I have had cats all my life, and never, ever have I had a bite like this.  It was just vicious, uncalled for.  Perhaps I accidentally touched a sensitive spot, I don't know.  It is quite shocking - I now feel astonishingly vindictive and feel like throwing tiny stones at the cat in future and driving it off our property.  As M said, "imagine if it did that to a child!", but what can you do?  If a dog had bitten me like that it might be in danger of being put down as vicious - but a cat's a different matter.

Extraordinarily ordinary book

Sometimes you read a highly praised book and you wonder, "Is it me? Did I just not get it?"  This book's cover is decorated with tremulous, ecstatic quotes from critics: "one of the best books you'll read this year" (if this is the year you're not planning to read much),  "at times almost unbearably moving" (not for me, perhaps I should change my medication) "full of comic panache" (laugh? I thought I'd never start - and I didn't).

The most extraordinary thing about this UK bestseller is how utterly ordinary it is.  The style is ordinary, the characters are ordinary, their insights are ordinary, the settings are ordinary. The main character is an astonishingly ordinary man, a retired manager, probably a Daily Mail reader, the epitome of a sort of Middle England dullness.  He seems to have ignored his emotions for years - and, once he has been given his MacGuffin and set out on his journey,  he gradually unbottles them and begins to experience them.  This isn't a bad premise - it worked well in Silas Marner (other novels are available). He decides to do something completely uncharacteristic - to walk across England. This trip results in the re-introduction of love into his life. There are some vaguely mysterious, but easily guessed at, things which are hinted at in the main character's background - but no-one who reads novels regularly could be remotely surprised when these matters are clarified towards the end of the book.

I enjoyed the book at first, the style is readable. Rachel Joyce describes everyday minutiae satisfactorily and she drizzles a few more interesting characters over the text. Most of the events in the book are fairly predictable (blisters, brief conversations with strangers), so much depends on whether one engages with the protagonist. A likable main character, while not a guarantee of literary quality, is an important factor in a book's popularity, evidently Harold Fry strikes a chord with a lot of people, however, while there is pathos in his story, I didn't find it engaging, his determination is admirable, but it seems out of character.. The parallel story of his wife's inner journey seemed more coherent and better observed.  There was a sprinkling of religious sentiment dusting the story - but without depth, perhaps reflecting the idea of religious faith being an optional extra in contemporary British life - so don't let the word Pilgrimage in the title put you off - no Bunyanesque heroics here!

Rachel Joyce, the author, regularly writes 45-minute long plays for the BBC. The daily BBC Radio 4 Afternoon Play, sometimes based on detective, historical or biographical fiction often features a "gently comic" strand of works about ordinary characters doing something "quirky" and ultimately "heartwarming". I cringe when I hear anything described as "gently comic": this is a British euphemism for "lacking in wit". This book began as a radio play. One should praise Rachel Joyce for having taken such an utterly ordinary character as Harold Fry and making him the unlikely protagonist of a best-selling novel.  Perhaps it suggests a new direction for other writers; perhaps there is an immense pent-up demand for novels about  the travails of the very ordinary. Ultimately, there is some sort of moral juice to be sucked out of this book: in making an utterly futile, almost capricious, commitment, Harold changes the balance of his life for the better. This might not work out for everyone though: Do not try this at home!  warning stickers should appear on the cover.

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce