As nature tempts us with the prospect of Spring in February, record temperatures have been reached in various parts of the country and there is no doubting that sunshine and a balmy breeze boosts the morale but … who among us would fall for that? Of course, there is a hurricane on the horizon before or after we are buried beneath feet of crippling snow and ice and the cruel taunting is made all the more difficult to palate as, once more, all that is familiar and predictable goes out the window. Thank goodness the roof over Wimbledon’s Court Number One will be completed by this year’s Championships in July as the definition of ‘season’ is consigned to the dictionary and summer is no more assured than a tantrum-free Serena Williams.
A week and a half, to put it mildly, I have been immersed, once more, in a ‘battle’ for justice at a cost to both sanity and purse. For one who adheres to the belief that ‘No man is an island …” (John Donne), I have to question the validity of the sentiment that one reaps what one sows. Unless I was a sewer rat in a former life, I have spent the last seven years reaping what an insignificant other has sown and dumped all over me! Thankfully, I can still remember how to cast off (yes, a knitting term I know but humour me …) but it is proving testing and time-consuming to say the least. No stranger to cynicism, there is a pattern emerging as, once more, I have been forced to acknowledge that justice is no friend of the innocent. A victim of the misrepresentation of information for personal gain, it seems that honesty, alone, is not sufficient opponent: unjust attack may – and must be defended but, in this crazy, material world, said defence has a price tag. An adversary devoid of conscience, sadly one must weigh up the value of integrity and the cost of striving for justice.
So, now for something less cheery! Don’t worry, it’s Friday, it is at least seventeen minutes past six and thus a soupcon of wine is perfectly acceptable, if not obligatory … Goodness knows why I have got into the habit of posting on a Friday? One hell of a way to counteract the social life! Not to worry, there is something very therapeutic about ‘talking’ to oneself and oneself tends to agree with that so all good. Refer to notes.
My website is continuing to take shape with final decisions to be made on my logo. Content has been uploaded onto the various pages and I have chosen some photographs for that of the Gallery. At first, I had envisaged including personal ones, perhaps of us in Rome or Austria, but I was persuaded that my identity should be withheld so as to avoid shattering the illusion. Good thinking, Batman! I had given no thought as to how the reader may perceive me, very few being known to me, but the realization is quite fun. In the absence of photographic evidence, Trish-Trash can remain a figment of the imagination given life only through my words. What do I look like, sound like? Anything is possible. If I were to choose somebody to play me in a future biopic, however, I would be thinking along the lines of … Sandra Bullock. Well, she’s funny!!
How do I come back from that?! Still on my first glass of wine, too. Perhaps a couple of little snippets which, in future, would find their way into my Seriously?page?
Forever frugal, I determined to travel into town the other day using the mode of public transport more fittingly referred to – by me – as the ‘germ mobile’. Deserving of no explanation, the reasons are obvious. Anyway, taking the scenic route up to the bus stop requiring of a mask aka Michael Jackson for reasons of traffic pollution, I met the neighbour of a, now deceased, dear friend whom I used to drive up to the local shops every Tuesday to collect her pension – and talk to anybody and everybody for two hours! I digress. Making small talk to this person, I sat beside her on the journey as we discussed changes in the area and, notably, houses for sale. As she got up to leave, I told her that our house was for sale to which she quickly replied that she hadn’t seen a sign outside and then … the inevitable: ‘Too posh for a sign?’ Why? What gave her the right to make such a pejorative comment? May I add that I expected nothing less from said woman – insult enough – but had I been devoid of class or manners, my retort should have been: ‘No. Just not common enough to have one!’
Why is it that those afflicted by the chip syndrome believe said affliction affords them the right to insult those of whom, let’s face it, they are jealous? Yasmin Alibhai-Brown comes immediately to mind. A regular panellist on Jeremy Vine, only yesterday they were debating whether or not the taxpayer should fund the £10,000 gastric band operation of an obese teenager. Amongst others, Ms Alibhai-Brown’s comment was that said cost to the NHS could be equated to that incurred by the ‘middle class abuse of alcohol’! Left of field and yet so predictable. A natural default, it seems that the class system is alive and well – and lack of that inflammatory little word is prevalent.
A less provocative subject?! A joint poll by Radio Times and BBC Music Magazine has named Star Wars the best film theme tune of all time. Help! Granted, the music of the 1977 film is instantly recognizable but the best of all time? Don’t be ridiculous! To add insult to injury, Lord of the Rings was the runner-up and Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone was in third place … What of the wonderful John Barry compositions: the music of Out of Africa, Dances with Wolves and, of course, Born Free? How could the theme music for Star Wars ever eclipse that of The Sound of Music? Quite frankly, my dear, it never will …
That’s a wrap! Well, nearly. Just a quick mention for my friend, Josh. Never met him but we chat regularly on the phone as he endeavours to extract from me a convenient viewing slot. Confused? Never mind. Suffice to say, always a delight catching up and a welcome reminder of intelligent life and the power to connect. Someone should tell these poor little green men all is not lost …
I leave you with my go-to when in need of a humorous quote:
‘It is my invariable custom to say something flattering to begin with so that I shall be excused if, by any chance, I put my foot in it later on.’ (From a speech in 1956)
The Wisdom of Prince Philip, Antony A. Butt.
Cover all bases!
This is Trish, signing off.
