Welcome to yet another posting - it's becoming quite a habit isn't it! - and, as the photograph to the left tries to demonstrate albeit in a rather typically understated manner, you find me amid the showery splendours of yet another Bank Holiday Monday; this month really does seem to have a surfeit of these double-Sundays and, of course this being England and the merry month of May this tends to preclude any kind of hey - nonny - noe-ing due to a preponderance of precipitation . . . oh hum! Still, how can one be downhearted with stout fellows such as you willing to trudge across the sodden meadows to join me for tea in the study? Pull up a chair and butter yourself a crumpet and we shall begin; shall I be Mother?
So what has occurred since last we met? Well, I'm involved in a somewhat exciting, precarious and, as some doubters would probably say, foolhardy attempt to hold back the veritable tsunami of austerity and depression sweeping the land by struggling to keep a little lifeboat of art and culture upright in treacherous seas . . . if it works it will be by dint of the sheer willpower and courage of Cap'n Jayne, my good friend and collaborator who is much nicer to have in the boat than a tiger for example, but is probably just as fierce in fighting for what she believes in! It's all at a rather delicate phase at the moment so I shall say no more on the subject but please watch this space for how you may help, should the desire arise . . .
Other than that the year speeds by at an unconscionable rate and I find to my surprise that in a few days time it will be the eighth birthday of The Famous Sally Dog and, a few days after that, the second anniversary of the Old Duchess' death . . . "time is an illusion; teatime doubly so" as I read in my first book all those years and tears ago and the verisimilitude of that statement has become more so down the days since . . . and now, today, as the Bank Hol winds down - if such a energy-less day could become more so that is - like a forgotten grandfather clock and the light dims and the gloaming is upon us once again, I find myself wondering whether there was ever a plan to all this madness, or did it just sort of happen? . . . I can only give thanks to the great goddess iCal for keeping me on track and providing me with some sort of structure to my life; sometimes it seems to me that my life is not dissimilar to a drunk at a cocktail party, stumbling around and bumping into situations and conversations, politely and randomly experiencing things which appear to make little or no sense before going home to sleep it off; perhaps that's how it was meant to be?
Oh, but look how rude I am; rambling on with my inner dialogue whilst you sit there, pretending not to be bored, a look upon your face that suggests mental and metaphorical thumb-twiddling if ever I saw it! And who can blame you? It is the curse of double Sundays I'm afraid and for that I can only beg and crave your pardon.
I hope the rest of this foreshortened week can be dragged into a positive perspective for you all and that the miserable drizzle which has been the year thus far becomes something more akin to Spring - just in time for the midsummer solstice! I do hope you have a wonderful time; please call back and visit me soon; I notice that my answer to the last quiz still remains to be conjured up, you could always have a go and drop me a line? In the meantime, have a marvellous time and may your best bib and tucker be permanently splattered with love and best wishes.
'til next time
Be Seeing You !
* . . . which could have ended " ... that I'm going though" ... but was, in fact:
"All the world's a stage and most of us are desperately unrehearsed.” ― Seán O'Casey