Someone has stolen my domain name!!! Click me up and you will find that I am offering you weird finance deals and insurance rates, and something creepy on mobile phones. I am told it is a serious offence and Google should be aware and put it right … but how to do that I don’t know? My genius friend who did my web site and is very “well connected” is trying to sort it. I am a very unimportant person, except to my dogs, so how am I, a mere mortal like to take on Google. I suppose one way of looking at it is that the stealers of my respectable life must think I am worth it ! News for them, their names are in a bottle in my deep freeze, now that is serious ….. they should be more careful, house wife bashing is not a good idea ….. I have power you see, so watch this space.
I will tell you what they have in common, I talked to them all yesterday, Joanna Lumley at a meeting with Compassion in World Farming, expressly to discuss the horrific pig farming practices in Europe and most surprising of all Southern Ireland. That is where Anna Maria comes in , these are two beautiful women who devote time energy and love to the magnificent work of CWF. Lumley is a class act celebrity, and very charming and beautiful and surprise, surprise, communicates like a normal ordinary person, which is what makes her so effective. She once turned up at the House of Commons with a piglet, the results were astonishing. The “grey suits” were on the case at once and all buying into backing a change in the law regarding the rearing of these intelligent creatures, who actually scream with pain and fear throughout all their lives in the murky sheds in some parts of Europe. In the USA these animal practices are so horrific that they are guarded by armed hoodies, and anyone photographing them is prosecuted and sent to chokey. Anna Maria is the CWF director in Italy, a new venture for Italians, she is brave and articulate, when you next eat your Prosciutto Ham and Parmesan cheese, check out her web site, you will be surprised! The men in this house eat bacon they love it , but shockingly the discerning shopper will find it impossible to find out how that pig was reared. Get on the case you shoppers, you hold the power, use it.
Now John Major is a different matter, he is not as pretty as the two gorgeous women I have mentioned, but the Sainted One says he was the best PM he ever worked with in twenty seven years, he also has this quality of non pompous communication. When I saw him this week I recalled the time I sat next to him and mentioned that his cold sore would improve with some Zorvex cream, I got the SO to take some round to Number Ten the next day. John wrote a most delightful thank you note. He is like that, a very good sense of humour, with a quality practically unknown in a politician, he can laugh at himself, I always think he has the last laugh actually, he was much more effective than most people realize, of course it is the super smart people who see that!
I returned from one of these gatherings rather late, and found the SO circling like a grey shark, the trick is not to catch the eye , if you do you will be expected to provide food….. in the case of the real one YOU, but in the trousered variety, it is back to the kitchen where you belong. I retired quickly and finished The Hare With Amber Eyes ,which was the second reading. It makes you think ….. people pretended not to see what went on with the Jews in the thirties, but they knew all right, and we should think of man’s inhumanity not just to itself but to the animal kingdom as well. Join CWF. At least people have a voice but pigs don’t unless you listen carefully …….
I have lost the battle of the Begonias, but at least they are not dark red. These have now been planted by the Sainted One in the dead of afternoon. But I am only telling you in secret because I do not want to offend him any more than usual because round here people “take a fence before they come to it”. Not all of them actually. Anyway the SO apart from regimental planting does do a wonderful job in the garden . At the weekend we went out to a very beautiful house for dinner , the host and hostess are supremely good gardeners but the winds were so strong it was not possible to walk in them, and truthfully we were marginally “en retard” which is French for late, which is relevant to this account, as you will see. The lateness was on account of a mystery tour, the driver was one other most illustrious of persons on the Isle of Wight, and also a load of fun, as is his wife, but they are local you see, and always locals tell you they know a brilliant short cut……… the rest is history, there is a moral here.
A man at another dinner the week before, who bored for England told me his entire life history, but when it got to the bit about his conception despite his mother’s fibroids, I turned to my other neighbour,
We have been out rather too much recently. The following night, at a dinner, one of my neighbours had a conversation “at me” which was all anecdotal. There was the occasional use of French German and Italian not sentences but single words. I was most impressed, each time I interrupted by suggesting we continued the conversation in these languages, all of which as you all know I speak absolutely fluently!!!!!!! On each occasion he swiftly declined, out of what he called deference to our hosts, whom, he suggested might not be as fluent as he was in all these tongues…. I told him I also spoke Mandarin Chinese.
I have a very lovely first cousin whose husband likes to trawl into our ancestry, there has always been a mystery about our grandmother from West Texas, it has just been revealed that my grandparents were married by a Rabbi, and there is more, watch this space, many things are beginning to be explained , I wish I had always known this I find it strangely resolving and very moving.
I really do think that writing is a wonderful escape , at least for me it is. Things were rather taxing this week, so much so that I lost the desire to keep the house from becoming a hovel ,hoover up all the dogs hairs and empty the bins . I went back into the world of George 2nd who features in my new book, and thought what a very undervalued man he was, I feel a great sympathy for him; he left very little correspondence, because he didn’t answer letters properly and sent them back with the reply scribbled on the bottom. What little there was of him was destroyed by his son George 3rd when he died, so he is a challenge. But he did great things, which will be within the pages of Summers Grace.
Little glimpses of heaven are rare when you live in a big city, even if it is leafy suburbia. They must come from another source, which does not need panoramic skies and swooping sunsets. One of these happened when my son went to the piano and sang a John Dowland song called Flow My Tears, probably written in about 1598. He uses his voice in the same way he played the flute when he was at it nine hours a day, like a part of another person who only comes out through the brilliance of music, it always moves me, and half the beauty is he doesn’t really know where it comes from. This was also evident in our local church, where two operas were staged by both professionals and amateurs. It was breath taking. People like Dowland knew that life was not about happiness and they learned to make a kind of beauty out of sadness. I am working on it.
There is a Latin saying “ne quid nimis”, for those of you who are not pretentious, bogus intellectual snobs like moi, this means, nothing in excess. I do not hold with that at all actually. My life is crowded with incident and excess, it started on Monday, I had the map of England removed from my left leg by a very clever vascular specialist, with hot wires inserted in the veins all visible on a screen, he was aided and assisted by a team of beautiful softly spoken maidens. I had enjoyed a delightful conversation with a smashing lady earlier in the day about the recreational benefits of Marhawana which I can’t even spell . I have never tried it, but I can tell you it after this week I probably will. The varicose veins were the result of hours of standing making fatuous conversation at constituency functions and prior to that idiotic cocktail parties.
I broke with the rule not to attend these the week before, where a very rude man with the usual rain forest of nostril hair, asked me what I was doing there? The implication being that I looked in some way unsuitable for such an select gathering of totally deaf people in posh clothes, smelling of mothballs all shouting their heads off. I found his enquiry offensive, so replied that I had gate crashed. This seemed to please him, and he enquired rather severely, how I had managed to get in? I told him I was a prostitute specialising in services to the older man and this was my area, and asked him if he would like my card? He replied alarmingly, that he was not averse to a bit of fun. The arrival of my very respectable and good looking husband was opportune, and I introduced the walking nostril hair to The Sainted One with full titles etc . Nostril Hair looked both bemused and furtive and moved away. I passed him on the way out, he was engaged in a very dull conversation with a woman with white untended hair and minuscule eyes who resembled an iced biscuit. I interrupted in a husky but audible aside, that I would be grateful if he did not tell my husband about my little sideline.
All this put me in mind of our beloved Queen who stands making conversation for most of her life, I went to see The Audience, I don’t know who I admire most Helen Mirren or Her Majesty, the latter does not seem to have varicose veins and never makes a remark which the recipient could possibly think dull or mundane. Neither I expect does the genius Helen Mirren. She is quite remarkable. I bet the Queen does not have an Iphone. After months of bullying I got one this week and whilst charging it accidentally left in on record . It replayed a conversation which I would so much rather not have heard.