I hope you’ll understand Dear Reader, when I say how hard it is in present times to find things to write about.
The fact is, I don’t get out very much anymore. And like so many of us, spend a lot of my time staring at four walls and arguing with my partner.
So, in an effort that I must admit is more for my sanity than yours, I have decided to make something out of nothing and simply comment on what has struck me (apart from my partner), today.
(I apologise for any similarities to those ‘What I did on my holidays’ things you used to write at primary school).
I’m sad to say that most of what really caught my attention did come from the pages of the newly inflated, taken-over-and-refurbished, Stratford upon Avon Herald, which I paid for yesterday and started reading this morning.
What a fantastic picture of (recent) Helen Mirrenin the Herald. I’ve often written of how this woman makes my socks roll up and down and of how I had the honour of being totally ignored by her when I was a younger man and working backstage at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre.
I see we have lost another Editor of our local paper. Mr Holwarth completes a short stint as Head Honco. But, didn’t he do well. All things considered, he has worked during the Herald’s most turbulent time, with new owners and a move. Nothing like this has happened since it was a spreadsheet delivered free to the people who lived in a cave on the Welcombe Hills, during an earthquake.. However, using the old ‘going to spend more time with the family’ ploy for leaving, does lend my suspicious mind to wonder if he was er…pushed…or shall we say, encouraged? Too many changes in such a short period of time. Enough to raise anyone’s suspicions methinks. I guess we will never know. But anyway good luck to the man.
Staying with the Herald. Price increase…price increase… From next week the paper that they couldn’t close (or once upon a time, hold down in a high wind), will cost One of Your English Pounds. (Blimey, I can remember when you still got change from a Groat and the Herald was big enough to camp under).
I went for a walk along the Greenway or as I have renamed it, The Brownway. Never seen so many dogs. I know of cyclists (my wife), who refuse to use it because they got fed up with being knocked off their bikes by unruly animals (and that’s just the owners). Don’t you just love those extendable dog leads that allow pets to wander off for at least a mile?
I was amused by the phrase in the Herald, ‘Zahawi puts his weight behind…’. It made me smile for a couple of reasons. A. Zahawi rarely puts his weight behind anything unless it comes from the mouth of his boss up in London. The PM could tell Nadhim that there should be a cull of anyone over thirty year and he (Zahawi) would come up with a paragraph that toed the line completely. B. Zahawi’s actual weight has become a little concerning. He has rapidly turned into what he is, an expanding multi-millionaire. He tends these days to look very greasy and sweaty when he’s on TV (which is rather a lot) but then again it could be the studio lights (NOT).
The Herald featured a very good letter today from the young woman who runs Stratford Calling. About Stratford upon Avon, the missive used a phrase that stuck out for me. ‘Taking Risks’, something we don’t do in safe old Stratford. Even the RSC which used to be a hotbed of risk-taking has turned back into the stuffy institution that it once was. Yawn.
Went to the dentist this morning for a deep clean and a check-up. Unfortunately, came out with a steaming headache due to the industrial fan making an industrial noise right next door to the chair of torture. Something to do with Covid but I have no idea what? However, thoroughly enjoyed the black-clad and masked women workers moving mysteriously and silently about.
Have you seen that fantastic violinist busking on the streets of Stratford upon Avon? Very talented. Obviously professional. Who is she?
Interesting one this (well I think so). During a visit to our Hobbit House, one of the grandkids said that he was frightened but wouldn’t say what of. So, R asked him to draw a representation of what he was scared of. He drew a group of various sized stick type men. When gently questioned further he told us that his mummy had told him not to wander too far from their house, as he could be kidnapped. No further comment.
Another argument with the partner. Is this due to the Lockdown? Have we had enough of each other? What does it mean? Answers on a postcard please.