Accidents in The Home, Mandela’s Wall, and Playing With Your Toys.

The Sainted One has always had a tendency to hitting his head on anything available; once I had a car demo here and he did it on the roof, blood everywhere. It was my fault of course for suggesting such a badly designed vehicle. The most frequent offenders are kitchen cupboard doors. The most recent event was very dramatic with much moaning and staggering about, followed by a very unjust suggestion that it was of course my fault for being in the room at the time and occupying a space which was further removed from this hazard. Naturally I could see the way this was going, the kitchen was no place for gentlemen of leisure who have slavish wives with nothing to do. So today teams of skilled craftsmen have been summoned to rip out the units and replace them with open shelving. Watch this space.

Mandela’s Wall is beginning to look splendid, my lovely brave neighbour managed to get out into the garden on the first sunny day to see it , it gave her much happiness and optimism. The Adorable Italian cousins are here , I love the way they drift into fascinating conversations where ever you encounter them in the house, it makes it all seem like a continuous party. On Wednesday we gave our reciprocal dinner for the many people who entertain us so generously. As one friend put it we like to get out all our toys and play with them on these occasions, of course the sweet lady who said this did not realize the vile sense of humour which is not far below the surface here, the S.O. did not see why it was funny. But he must be forgiven everything as he has recently taken over some of the household shopping, which leaves me time for filing my nails and talking on the telephone for which I am so much adored and appreciated. No time for the great literary work this week.

“Farmageddon”, Noah’s Flood, and The Wall.

Farmageddon is the book written by Phillp Lymbery with Isobel Oakshott, it has become an international success, it is about our treatment and abuse of farm animals. He is perfectly qualified to write this compelling and shocking masterpiece as director of Compassion in World Farming which I support. He did some pretty scary things to get his material which is gathered from all over the world. It is a cautionary tale reflected in the way we also abuse the land from which all things must come to sustain us. Nowhere better is this seen than in the neglect of the verdant Somerset Levels which were reclaimed from the sea by Dutch engineers in the seventeenth century and have flourished ever since, until that is, some mindless idiots decided that the well tried system of dredging and draining should be left to go to ruin . It is biblical in it’s connotations. Lofty visits by townies in expensive Hunter Boots are a joke, and an insult, patronizing offers of “cake”, too little and too late. We ignore nature at our peril , that great river The Thames which was the life force of England for hundreds of years has a sting in it’s tail, it has all happened before, Noah’s floating Zoo was well documented.

“ Mandela’s” wall is also casualty of the rain, but today this magnificent construction had the benefit of a buttress without which it would blow down again into our ailing and courageous neighbours garden. It is the aim of the builders who are working so hard at it to finish it in time for this lovely lady, to see the daffodils, which will have been replanted at the base to give her encouragement and thoughts for the summer in this little paradise she has created over twenty years. This is about loving a little piece of land which makes the sum total… she is being cared for by a rota of daughters , and she is like a buttress …. A metaphor for a much loved mum.

I mourn the demise of the comma which being dyslexic I have only just learned to use. I read it will be replaced by a ubiquitous dash. A sign of the times.

Noah’s Flood, Farmageddon, and Town Versas Countryside.

Farmageddon is the book which has just come out written by Philip Lymbery with Isabel Oakshott. It is a shock horror read and I am glad to say has become an international bible. Phillip is director of Compassion in World Farming and thus a world authority on the way we treat animals, all animals actually because he has a profound respect for the animal kingdom. I am reading this book and it tells me many things, for example eighty three percent of England is under cultivation. Factory farming is a biblical sin and so is our attitude to the wondrous land which gives us the food we eat. The Somerset levels were reclaimed by Dutch engineers in the seventeenth century and have been flourishing ever since, until that is some townies decided to let all these well tried systems of drainage and dredging fall into disrepair. This planet has seen it all before Noah’s Flood should be a warning to us all. We abuse animals and neglect the land we should treasure at our peril. Lofty visits by blokes in immaculate Hunter boots are fifty years too late and so is a respect for that great river The Thames which served as the life blood of England for hundreds of years. Local communities were right to shout at the idiots who came to offer too little too late.

“Mandela’s” wall is coming on thanks to the heroic efforts of it’s makers. Today they built a buttress without which the wall would again collapse into out ailing neighbour’s garden. The plan is to get it finished before the daffodils come out in order that she can see the spring garden she has so lovingly created over the last twenty years. So what is a buttress? I think it is something of a metaphor for a matriarch I am thinking about this.

Silver Spoons! Where do you Put Them?

The Sainted One has four silver spoons which he won four years running in a Parliamentary ski race. They reside in a drawer, along with some other ones, a rather random selection actually. Anyway I used one of the Parliamentary spoons the other day to eat my cereal. This came to the attention of the ever vigilant S. O. and I was greeted with a stern sepulchral face and was informed that the spoons were far too good for me to put in my mouth. Well you see what came out of my mouth quick as a flash was the suggestion to the S. O. that his proprietorial affection for the spoons was something someone like moi might find difficult to appreciate, because I was born with so many of them sticking out of my mouth ( which is one of the many things people find so wonderfully impressive of course ) so really he could take the spoons and put them somewhere else, fulfilling a no doubt pre planned destiny, and at the same time avoiding the risk of tarnishing etc. This took a bit of time to sink in, and while it did I left the house to catch the train from Clapham Junction to spend the day in Haywards Heath, where I suspect many of the inhabitants eat off real silver spoons. The whole affair was sinister in its implications. Politicians and spoons there is a thought .

I knew a man who was most upset when Private Eye carried a story which claimed that when he had sexual intercourse his eyes would pop out at the moment critique, and his partner would have to put them back in with a warm oiled silver spoon which he kept by the bed for that purpose, I suspect there was some truth in this the great and the good are very complex and not always very savoury in their sexual behaviour , the whole matter must have narrowed his chances quite considerably. There was also another story which I could not possibly repeat, silver spoon or no silver spoon.

I attended a conservative party rally once where a repulsive youth insulted Michael Hazeltine, a doughty lady in a husky and pearls bore down on the loathsome youth and said, “ when God created your mouth he created the perfect arshole.” There is definitely a theme here.