Curiouser and curiouser

Just finished watching Lady Hale read the summary of the Supreme Court judgement on the appeals about prorogation.  Parliament must now reconvene, though I suspect that will generate rather more heat than light.  It puts the Prime Minister in an interesting position, of course.  Not only has he acted unlawfully but he has done so in a way that amounted to deliberately misleading the Queen.

Meanwhile in Brighton, the leader of HM opposition and his friends are hell-bent on making their party unelectable by failing to take a clear stand on what is essentially the only issue in current UK politics.

Glad in some ways to be old and childless.

Sneeze, sniffle

I’m wondering whether the hay fever season will ever end.  (And did I remember to take an anti-histamine this morning?  Did I hell.)  A spot of sea air helped a little today: on a whim, we motored down to Eastbourne, and enjoyed balmy temperatures and long views in the clear air.  Mr Ramsden’s fish and chips were as good as ever, but I had to comment that the ‘regular’ portion of haddock was probably a good option for a pensioner’s lunch.  Fish finger, mair like.  But no bad thing, really.

Our new penstemons are quite rewarding, with a nice range of colours.  Most have more pronounced white throats than our old stock, and the colours include a vibrant scarlet and a strong cerise.  Cuttings in due course.  The first flush of rudbeckias is going over, so I’ll need to get out and do some dead-heading to encourage more flowers.  The runner beans are cropping like mad, and our recent sowings of French beans are coming into flower.  The bloody grass is still growing, of course, but at least we have less of it to deal with than heretofore.

As for current political events, I must of course keep my own counsel.  Feel free to read my mind.

Unexpected cultural outing

Yesterday, Martyn spotted in passing a reference to a concert in which the wonderful Nicola Benedetti was to be performing.  On checking further, it turned out to be that very evening, and, after a mighty struggle with the Disgustedville Council's awful website, he managed to get us a couple of tickets.  (I, meanwhile, in a fraction of the time, had booked us a table at a nearby restaurant for an early supper, and then gone back and adjusted the timing to be on the safe side.)

The concert was of Elgar's violin concerto and Brahms's second symphony.  The first I knew not at all, and the latter very well.  Benedetti's performance was stunning.  It seems a demanding virtuoso piece, and she handled it extremely well.  I'm afraid that, after the first movement, I whispered to Martyn 'She's wasted on Elgar!.  I always get the feeling that, with Elgar, it's like eating in a run of the mill Indian restaurant: there are some nice twists here and there, but underlying everything is the same old gravy.  The trouble with the Brahms was me.  I'm used to a couple of familiar interpretations, and yesterday's was rather farther from either of them than was comfortable.  The funereal pace of the first two movements left me wondering whether the conductor was being paid by the hour.  The third - and particularly the fourth - movements made we wonder whether he'd suddenly realised he had a train to catch.  Granted, the fourth movement was taken at exactly the tempo I like.

For all this ungracious carping, I have to say that the overall experience was very positive.  It's always good to hear good live performances, and the little English Symphony Orchestra acquitted itself well.  Sure, it lacked the polish and crispness of some of the big-name orchestras, but it's entitled to be proud of its performance.

I think I've harvested and packed all the seeds I'm going to.  The process has wrought havoc on the hay fever, so I'm currently sneezing and runny-eyed.  Still, all will be well when we're out on the ocean again.  Next May...

Independent MP for Disgustedville??

Our man, described elsewhere as a Conservative with a social conscience, is in favour of remaining in the EU, and got sacked first from his cabinet job, and yesterday from the Tory whip as a consequence of voting in line with his convictions.  Certain alienated old Labour voters of my acquaintance regard him as a likeable, clever and responsible politician, and could happily vote for him as an independent.  I’ve also heard it said that there are fewer of his kind in circulation these days.  Not that I could comment, of course.

We’re sort of gearing up for a Macmillan coffee morning, and, having raised a few quid last year by selling flower seeds from the garden, I’ve been packing little envelopes of seeds today, and designing outer packets for them.  Much manual labour, with corresponding complaint from the elderly manual joints.  

Meanwhile, out in the weedpatch, the runner beans are fruiting away like mad, the new sowing of dwarf French ditto are coming along nicely, and this year’s penstemons grown from seed are giving us some lively new colours.  The rudbeckias are going over (hence the last paragraph), but a good chop back may give us another flush.  Heaving the odd handful of muck on the soil beneath the roses in the spring has kept the black spot at bay up to a point, so we’re starting to get a new flush of blooms.

It’s a comfort to have some modest local successes in these distressing times.