Sunday, October 20th
I always allow Winnie free rein to wander out in the grounds near the house, where she can poke around safely to her heart’s content. I saw her wandering around among the vegetables, keeping Jethro company. They probably had some stuff to talk about, though if you asked me about their levels of intelligence I’d say Winnie wins that one by a country mile.
Twiddling the dial on the wireless I came across a dreadful grim-sounding bunch of people talking about death and despair and physical and mental issues. You have to be careful these days. The wireless is becoming increasingly filled with people being miserable in your living room. I know it’s not politically correct to say so, but it can be a real downer, to be honest, and I was glad to find some Mozart elsewhere to cheer things up a bit.
Melissa telephoned. She says she’s thinking of changing her name. I argued against the notion, since it would confuse far too many things, and it might be of consequence to at least half a dozen people (but not me).
Tuesday, October 22nd
Jethro drew my attention today to some fencing that needs repairing, and it’ll involve the purchase of some posts, stakes or some other technical term that basically adds up to meaning some wood. It’s of little consequence, and small expense, but Jethro has to ask my permission before he spends any of my money, even though I have loads.
I’ve been asked to speak at a luncheon in a nearby industrial city of grime and delinquency, the audience being a “writers’ group”. If I could think of anything worse . . .
Melissa telephoned. She said the clocks go back this coming weekend, and not to forget. I might or I might not. It doesn’t matter, because I have Cook for that sort of thing.
Wednesday, October 23rd
I’m not sure how many current so-called poets spend much or any time reading the great poets of old, but I like to always have some long-dead bard at hand, and the last few days it’s been Alexander Pope, whose heroic couplets are cracking stuff, but have been well and truly out of fashion for quite a while. Plus, some of his best stuff is really long, and so you have to devote some proper time to it. But I have time! I’ve just re-read “Essay on Man” for the first time in many years, but I’ve never read all of “The Dunciad”, which is basically about the triumph of “the great empire of Dullness”, so I’m going to give that a proper crack. The last four lines are pretty good:
Lo! Thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored;
Light dies before thy uncreating word;
Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall,
And universal darkness buries all.
but there’s around 50 pages of poem to plough through before I get there, so I need to buckle down.
Melissa telephoned. I was reading. It’s of no consequence, because Cook was on telephone patrol all day, and under strict orders to leave me out of it.
Thursday, October 24th
Were I to write the story of my life – as has been suggested by one or two people – I think I would want to make most of it up. I suppose then it wouldn’t be the story of my life, but since I live most of the time inside my head, perhaps it would also be quite accurate and, from the psychologist’s and psychiatrist’s point of view, very revealing. I’m not going to do it. It’s just a thought that occurred, and I wrote it down, and it’s of little consequence.
Melissa telephoned. She’s still going on about a change of name. I think I’ll need to get Cook to have a word with her.
Not much else happened today. Jethro took Cook into town for some shopping, so I had to stay and play host to a chap who came to do some kind of annual check on something, fire alarms I think, which is so boring . . . but important, I suppose. The bloke who came had one of those support things on his leg – I don’t know what they’re called – apparently as a result of a football injury. And some people wonder why I’ve never been interested in playing sports where you might get hurt.
Cook dished up a delicious dinner this evening, but it was back to basics. A simple chicken with boiled spuds and broccoli. Sometimes the simple is the best. I should probably write that down.
Saturday, October 26th
It was a bit nippy early this morning. Walking up to the top of Hillocky Hill with Winnie before breakfast and not wearing my woolly gloves proved to be of some cold consequence, although I had stuck on the warm hat, so my head was alright. The wind atop the hill was cutting, albeit quite healthy and refreshing. It was the kind of morning that called for a warming porridge inside of you when you got home, which is exactly what Cook served up.
I wonder if this, from Pope, would resonate with anyone anywhere, were they to stumble upon it:
Prose swelled to verse, verse loit’ring into prose:
How random thoughts now meaning chance to find,
Now leave all memory of sense behind . . .
Melissa telephoned. She’s abandoned the notion of changing her name. Apparently her mother vetoed the move.
Jethro has been busy with the fencing, and I deigned to keep him company for a while this afternoon in the sunshine. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to feign interest in what’s going on. He’s a strong chap. He lugs posts and timber around as if they weighed next to nothing, but they’re big bits of trees! Then he swings the mallet or whatever it’s called with all the force of a mighty warrior. He wouldn’t be out of place in a Homeric tale, but he’s not a hefty chap, and looks like he could be blown away by a gust of wind at any moment. I suppose he’s all wiry muscle. Wiry muscle and not a great deal of brain, to be honest. But he’s a good worker, most of the time.
Sunday, October 27th
The clocks went back last night, but I disremembered and so was rather
disoriented this morning when I got up at what I thought was 8 and it was 7. Cook said she was surprised to see me up and about so early on a Sunday morning. I suppose it’s of no consequence, but still . . .
Melissa telephoned. She was checking that I had set the clocks back. Also, one of her cats has passed away, which is sad. But she has lots of others.
James Henderson (Gentleman)
.