Oh, fickle weather!  Apparently, it’s June.  Who would know?  Well, Tom, Donny and the other one …  I have three calendars hanging around, as it were, and, remembering to turn the page on each, I am reminded daily of the passage of time.  To be honest, Donny still thinks it’s 2012 – and the days are slightly askew as a result – but, a gift from Becca and Manny, I couldn’t bear to bin him and the familiar monthly photos have become a bit of a standing joke.  The gift that keeps on giving.  So, wherever I go, I reckon he and 2012 are coming with me!  A year never to be forgotten, after all …

I have no time to write this, truth be told.  I am supposed to be packing, something I absolutely detest!  Someone to pack for me, a chauffeur and a private jet …  Too much to ask?!  Rome beckons, once more, and we have a date with Andrea Bocelli in the Baths of Caracalla on Saturday evening.  Seems surreal.  It’s been more than three years since I booked the tickets for a concert which was, originally, planned for 21st June, 2020.  Something happened on the way to the forum, though …  So, here we are and, at last, we are to be serenaded in the sunset.  In anticipation, I have been listening to him a lot over the past few days and have come to appreciate that no amount of hankies will soak up the tears.  Andrea Bocelli – in collaboration with Kleenex!  Just hope I can turn the tap off.

Before I go, my thoughts on the past week …  How about starting with fairy tales and Martha Gill’s belief that it is ‘not a sin to re-write them.’?  What a surprise, she writes for The Guardian!  Anyway, a step too far, I realised that there is a pattern emerging in this wokery.  Aside from the obvious contempt for anything and everything traditional, it highlights a glaring inability to create.  Driven by grievance, the demand for change is petulant.  Fairy tales must be preserved.  Stories of their time, they are an important window to the past, its morals and beliefs, and have been enjoyed by generations.  History cannot/must not be re-written.  Our very foundation, without it, we are untethered.  Unhinged?!  Here’s an idea, if the unhinged – sorry, woke – don’t like, then the woke should create their own; write new ‘fairy tales’.  God help us all!  Seriously, though, use some initiative.  James Bond is white!  Ian Fleming wrote him as white.  James Bond cannot be black!  James Smith could be, though …  Imagination.  Creativity.  Grey matter.  Not the point, though, is it?

For months now, I have driven past the Royal & Ancient Clubhouse on my way to the beach.  Iconic.  Beloved.  It has been ripped apart on both sides as they shake the very foundations, digging deep to create changing rooms and facilities for ladies.  Why?  The R&A was sacrosanct.  A clubhouse for gentlemen only for more than two hundred and sixty years, it was forced to admit women members in 2014.  A sad day and a triumph for whom?  Those who pay no heed to history or tradition?  It says little for feminism if it is based purely on coveting all that is traditionally male; they have so we want.  No!  Be proud.  Don’t change the old, create new …   The character of the R&A changed forever in 2014.  It remains in name only.  Similarly, the St Leonards that I knew – a school for girls founded in 1766 – ceased to exist in1999 when its doors were opened to boys.  The thing is, the name of an institution is synonymous with its character; that which is built over time.  To change the body of that institution is to change its very being and all that remains is a name; mere letters on a page, testament to what once was.

What is the definition of stupidity?  Surely, to create a monster in one’s own ilk?  In the beginning, God created man … then sat back and watched him self-destruct at the hands of his own arrogance.  Computers, mobile phones, the giant that is technology; the giant of an own-goal!  Sucking the life from a once social race, isolation abounds.  Communication is virtual as life becomes increasingly more difficult, stressful and, let’s face it, miserable.  In a world sufficiently deranged to laud the imminent introduction of driverless cars – the same world which ludicrously pushed electric cars – the concerns about the advancement of A.I. are growing.  Robots in human form increasingly demonstrating the ability to go rogue.  Am I the only one who remembers the Frankenstein horror films from childhood?  Are we nuts?!  At the very least, why render ourselves redundant?  More to the point, why create a monster capable of destroying the entire human race?  If it weren’t so terrifying, it would be funny!  Talk about entertainment … God must be up there laughing his socks off – if he wears socks.  God knows!  Sorry, couldn’t resist.

No case packed and it is well after midnight.  Oh, well.  Nothing new there.  Stood and ironed while watching Dan Wootton.  All about Harry.  Again, what’s new?  I’ve actually been disgusted by the human race this past week.  While the last three years have been an eye-opener in more ways than one, the most scary thing of all was seeing how readily man turned on man; succumbed to the pack mentality.  Incited by fear, it became dog-eat-dog.  It seems, in the aftermath, the worst traits remain …  So it is that both Phillip Schofield and Prince Harry have been thrown to the wolves.  Once beloved, now fallen from grace, they have been savaged and mocked in their demise.  It has been horrific to watch and changed my opinion of so many; those who have found enjoyment in cruelty, entertained by the spectacle of kicking a man when he is down.  Admittedly, both have made mistakes but Phillip Schofield is broken having been stabbed in plain sight, while Harry has proved, today, that he is nothing more than a lost little boy, still wounded from the death of his mother.   Leave them alone!  My God, what have we become?!

I went to visit an old friend yesterday, up in Edinburgh for a few days.  Dealt the cruellest of hands, she is my beacon of hope.  Her courage knows no bounds, her strength in adversity an example to us all.  One who has always seen the good in everyone, she, herself, is now shielded by the best.  Perspective.  A reminder of all that matters …

Now, white jeans?  Tick.  Enormous sunglasses?  Tick.  Pearls?  Tick.  Good to go.  Roma, here I come!

Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.  Be kind.  Always.’

Robin Williams

This is Trish, signing off.  Unchecked.  Completely exhausted!  Mine’s a Limoncello Spritz …