Out again at last [updated]

Yesterday we had our first ‘proper’ outing since the first lockdown.  We made a trip to London to see  Historia Theatre Company’s current production, Kate Glover’s Mayflower: They Knew They Were Pilgrims.  It is being performed until 11 June at the Hen and Chickens at Highbury Corner.  A well-constructed and moving piece, acted with the usual spark and eloquence of a Historia cast made up of some familiar and some impressive new members.  It traces the progress of the Leiden non-conformist congregation from their decision to set up in Virginia to their unplanned arrival in Massachusetts.  As well as the underlying theme of religious persecution, the plot addresses the exploitation of refugees from persecution by ruthless venture capitalists who fund the journey in exchange for years of slave labour from the pilgrims, and send them to sea in overcrowded, barely seaworthy vessels.  The play was written to mark the 400th anniversary of the 1620 voyage, but of course could not be performed live in the anniversary year.  Four hundred years on, the parallels with the present day could scarcely be more chilling.  As pub theatres go, the H&C is pretty good, if bum-numbing.  The traffic noise can be a distraction - but it can’t outdo Michael Murray’s exuberant sound effects.  

It was a matinee performance, so we took the chance to have lunch nearby beforehand, at the Trevi restaurant at the foot of Holloway Road.  Friendly place with decent food and pretty reasonable prices: two courses and two glasses of wine each: £60 including tip - cash only.  We took a crowded train up from our nearby country station (where parking is now charged, but only on weekdays in the daytime) and used the 43 bus between London Bridge and Highbury Corner.  What one notices on a first trip to the Smoke after a longish interval is the crowding and the noise.  London was thronging on the fine Saturday afternoon, so the people-watching was good sport.  We missed our train home by a few minutes, so sat on the concourse for best part of an hour with tea and a sandwich.  It was a relief to get away from the noise to the relative peace of our train when it pulled in.  Unfortunately, we shared a carriage with a young couple who felt able to spend the journey winding up their screeching sprogs.  We like public transport, but….  

Oh, and why, according to announcements, do trains arrive ‘into’ particular stations rather than ‘at’?  And why are we enjoined to ‘ensure and make sure’ that we haven’t forgotten to pick up our belongings?  It’s a bit like the ‘last and final’ calls made at airports (when they are seldom either).  

A hive of industry

We’re on Day 5 of the bathroom refit, and are starting to get a little weary of the crashing and banging overhead.  We’re using a small local firm, and on the first day the two twin brother directors were both here.  Yesterday the ceiling was plastered by the chap who did the hall ceiling for us: a father and son business with identical names.  Today’s work seems to be the installation of the new equipment: the new shower tray went in first thing this morning.

We went and collected the tiles during the week: since we’re having tiles from floor to ceiling, we needed both cars!  Fortunately, the chap at the shop did most of the loading, since the boxes are bloody heavy.  The tiler is starting on Monday, and the tiles will just stay in the cars until then.  We are neither of us keen on wrecking our backs.  Had we had the tiles delivered, we’d still have had to schlepp them from the kerbside to the garage, so storing them in the cars is probably the best solution.  

We’ve had some heavy rain in recent days, and the garden has profited.  The potatoes have grown about a foot, the sage is flowering beautifully and the roses are starting to flower. We’re rather over-endowed with woodland geranium and iris sibirica, but they provide some colour and ground cover while we slowly populate the new flower bed.  Of the tagetes seedlings I planted out a few weeks ago there is no trace.  I guess the drought or snails will have done for them.  Last year’s rudbeckias, on the other hand, are starting into strong growth, so we may not bother to plant this year’s seedlings.  We have decided to bite the bullet and get gardeners Ben and Duncan in for a couple of hours once a fortnight.  The place already shows the benefit of their first visit.  In addition, we’ve briefed them to come and dig out the box stumps in the front garden and replant with something less vulnerable in the autumn.

The four viable tomato seeds out of the six in the packet have yielded good strong plants that are now fruiting heavily.  In addition we have rooted a couple of dozen plants from side shoots, so ought to have a succession of fruiting - at least if, unlike last year, they don’t succumb to the blight.  The four originals and the first three cuttings are growing in the conservatory alongside a tray of small plants of the next generation.  Another nine from the mini-greenhouse are potted up outdoors.  Our success with growbags last year was limited, so I’m trying chrysanthemum pots this year instead.  And I’ll try to remember to feed and water them this time.

Slash & burn

Since I last posted, the box tree moth caterpillars have devastated the hedge and bushes, so we’ve cut the lot down and burned it in an incinerator (known hereabouts as the insinuator, in homage to my first boss, who was given to such malapropisms).  Along the top path there’s still a row of box that seems unaffected, but we have few illusions, given the dozens of caterpillars we find every time we step outside - a few even get inside the house.  Martyn has chopped down a lot of the herbage at the foot of the fence on the street side.  Meanwhile, I was sawing down the trunks of what used to be the box ball at the foot of the drive, and was taking the strimmer to the weeds that had grown at the foot of the box hedge.  Oh well: it’s a chance to try something new, and I've opened the dialogue with our garden guru Ben: we could just manage the slash and burn, but the grubbing up and preparation for replanting is beyond us these days.  Always looking on the bright side of life, the absence of hedge shows off the viburnum, which is currently at its best.

We have a first rose in bloom at the side of the house, a first flower on the cistus purpureus and a lot of new flowers on the rockery, notably a Wisley Pink helianthemum.  In the veggie department, the spuds are growing vigorously, and we’ve planted a few beans out and sown some more.  A few leeks seem to have succumbed to the drought, but the onions look happy enough.  The tomatoes in the sitooterie are fruiting, and we’ve rooted a lot of side shoots - probably more than we can grow.  

Can you imagine a place like Disgustedville with a Council under other than true-blue Tory control?   This has been the case, if marginally, for a year now, and last week's elections administered a further kick in the teeth.  This time there wasn't a major local issue like the extravagant and quite properly dismissed plan to build a new theatre, so it looks as if the vote turned on national rather than local issues.  The gutter press, meanwhile, has turned on the Rt Hon and Learned Leader of HM Opposition for ordering a takeaway meal in the middle of a work session, and he has undertaken to resign if the local Busies find that he broke lockdown rules.  This is pretty clearly rhetorical, and aimed at accelerating the long-overdue departure of the current Rt Hon First Lord of the Treasury.  The latter's main talent of winning, however dishonestly, the popular vote has utterly disappeared, and the Brexit chickens are coming home to roost.  The damage this joker has done defies belief: not only to the country's economy but also to its political processes.