​Happy Easter!  The country has been gearing up to this weekend from the minute the Christmas cards left the shelves with no time for dusting – well, they’d been there since August, after all – only to be replaced by chocolate eggs galore.  Commercialism gone mad but the sheep keep buying.  In all seriousness, to the majority now, Easter means a long weekend and Cadbury’s cream eggs!  Like Christmas, does anyone know or care why it is celebrated?

The hype surrounding the long weekend seems to have reached new heights this year and I can only assume it represents the proverbial slippery slope reflective of life in general.  Nobody cares what anything means as long as it encourages spending be it in the shops or bars.  A long weekend affording time off work and the chance to venture out, dare I say, in colour!  A Friday and Monday not requiring of the customary black attire, trainers, backpack and, of course, the identity tag around one’s neck.  What’s not to celebrate?!

Unbelievably, the weather is beautiful today and it actually reminds me of many an Easter holiday spent sunbathing (I jest not) in the back garden at home.  Sometimes it is hard to believe that our climate once subscribed to four seasons, that the weather was often glorious in the April sunshine of Spring but today Nature is tantalizing us with a nod to the past.  Amen to that.

For my part, I am always confused as to when Easter actually falls.  Changing every year, I am forever in the dark until it is suddenly upon us.  As for Easter eggs …  the fact that they have been ubiquitous since January has ensured my reticence to buy and I only imagine the accompanying price tag.  One must also question how many are being recycled?  Well, what do they do with surplus from previous years?   Box them up, shove them in a warehouse, increase the price twofold and Bob’s your uncle!  What is the origin of that saying?  Not sufficiently interested to google it, I shall maintain my ignorance and continue to live my life Uncle Bob-less …

Sinking fast into the realms of utter drivel, I did google Good Friday earlier and this is what I found: ‘Good Friday is a Christian holiday commemorating the crucifixion of Jesus and his death at Calvary.’  All good.  However …  to the left is the header, Top Stories, below which are a collection of adverts – complete with photographs – depicting the Good Friday opening hours for Tesco, Asda and Wickes!  I rest my case.  Is it any wonder my friend, Ben Fogle’s New Lives In The Wild is so popular?  Not so crazy after all, those who have turned their backs on this gluttonous material world …

Following a major sporting event last weekend, the subject of karma has remained very much on my mind.  Undoubtedly, there is solace in the belief that it does exist; that someone who has deliberately caused harm or shown no regard for others will, one day, be subject to his or her just desert.  In reality, however, is it just wishful thinking?

The news that Tiger Woods had won the 2019 Masters saddened me.  Not the fact that that he had won, fair and square, but more that he should be deserving of the ensuing accolades.  Yes, his talent is undeniable – as are his drive and determination; and, yes, nobody is ever going to forget the young Tiger who took the golfing world by storm all these years ago, the young prodigy driven and shaped by his father.  However, revered by all, stage right he was a ruthless predator hell-bent on satisfying his every whim regardless … just regardless!  Believing his own hype and fuelled by a bank balance as large as his ego, it is alleged he indulged in more than a hundred extra-marital affairs in the six years he was married to Elin Nordegren, the mother of his two children.  His respect for women boundless – nay, other human beings – could he sink any lower? (Am I the only one who can hear Chandler saying that?)  Fall any further?  Tiger Woods, golfing hero extraordinaire, was history.  Dogged by injury, it seemed the most he could hope was that the genius of his early career take precedence over his lack of moral compass in the public memory.  Was this karma?

Fast forward to Sunday, 14th April 2019 and it would seem that the slate has been wiped clean; the world is suffering from amnesia.  Tiger Woods has pulled off the impossible winning the Masters – his fifth – and the hearts of the public, once more.  Of course, it is an incredible comeback displaying great strength of character and belief but, ironically, it was the presence of his two children and his focus on them in victory which has proved the elixir of his damaging past.

So does karma have a sell-by date?  Is he forgiven?  Are his past demeanours forgotten?  Does everyone deserve a second chance?  In truth, I think we would all just rather cling to happy memories and delete the bad.  Desperate to find good in a world lost and too often cruel, Tiger Woods’ comeback is a reminder of his glory days and, just maybe, our own.  Perhaps the remorse for his past was genuine?  Perhaps he is, now, a better man?  Who knows?  Memory is a powerful thing.  For Elin Nordegren, however, a divorce settlement of one hundred million dollars has surely helped eradicate those most painful …

Packing is underway, here, having mustered sufficient courage to open the garage door and even climb into the loft!  There are clothes everywhere – a comforting thought should we end up homeless – and, inevitably, there is much time to be wasted should one allow oneself to go through every bag or tub.  I was reminded, however, of a tale of moving which haunts me to this day when, stupidly, I cleared the contents of the cupboard under the window in our bedroom in Comely Bank Street into a bin bag!  My beloved Russell & Bromley black boots, quintessentially simple and classic which, today, would have been vintage and unique; my coveted collection of belts in assorted colours and styles – which, today, would have barely gone round my leg!  Then there was my old riding hat – weird – and several handbags including a beautiful shoulder bag I remember buying in Richmond: leather handles, it was woven string, sacky in style with a beautiful green lining – it would have been the envy of all.  Suffice to say, a certain person – although forewarned – put said bag out with the bins and, thirty-two years on, some bin man’s wife still can’t believe her luck!  A lesson learned but a memory which shall haunt me forever more.

After five now, the sun is still shining.  Manny is in Brisbane and Becca in the garage!  Oh, well …  you win some; you lose some.  Let me finish with a beautiful quote I wrote down, recently, when I caught the end of a film about the last two years of Princess Diana’s life.  Attached to the flowers he left outside Kensington Palace, Hasnat Khan wrote:

From the poet, Rumi,

‘Somewhere beyond right and wrong, there is a garden.  I will meet you there.’

This is Trish, signing off.