Nine days does not a week make. Time stands still for no-one. Ain’t that the truth! Apologies to my reader but my dream of spending my days at my desk, writing, is a distant memory, for now. More a case of grabbing any free time. So … Sunday evening and, as I have tried – unsuccessfully, I might add – before, I’m giving myself an hour. Time check: 18:08.
To be honest, I’m not sure I can fill an hour! I’m sick of addressing the scary world of now but, on the other hand, one cannot deny that it is all-consuming. Actually, that’s not true. Most can – and do. I, sometimes, wish I could …
Pope Francis’ funeral in Rome, yesterday, I wonder how many watched it in this country? A world event of huge spectacle in the most wonderful backdrop, I watched the leaders and dignitaries gathering, obliged to abide by the ancient seating arrangement dictated by the French alphabet. I’m always interested to see the chosen attire of the attendees and, specifically, the men. White shirt. Obligatory, in my book, and, surprisingly, even Keir Starmer managed one of those! Donald Trump, I might add, always wears a white shirt. The blue suit, on this occasion? Not entirely sure. Prince William, too, donned a blue rather than black suit but nothing can prevent him looking unkempt with that awful apology for a beard! Men and their hair. Yes, he is all but bald but the facial hair looks atrocious and does nothing to detract from the fact. My question is, what happened to Kate’s influence? Does she approve? Must do or, let’s face it – couldn’t resist – he would be clean-shaven. So little to play with, it’s important to get it right!
Then, there was Zelensky … Admittedly – and, thankfully – the hideous green army fatigues were in the wash but what was he wearing instead? I could have placed a winning wager on the black shirt but was that meant to be a suit? Did he just forget his tie? Never under-estimate the importance of one’s attire for it speaks volumes – as does the decor of one’s home. Both are an extension of oneself. A matter of choice. A matter of taste. A testament to the individual – or, today, lack of. Yes, it didn’t take long! Cloning. Back to it. Homes, cars, clothes, views; opinions, or, again, lack of.
Personally, I hate the tradition of wearing black to funerals. Sad enough, as they are, they should be a celebration of life, as far as possible. Wear something bright! Wear his/her favourite colour or just one you’re known for – which gives Zelensky the green light, then! Is it hard to explain? Not really. I have always celebrated the individual; those who dare to be individuals, and never more so than in this brainwashed world. That said, respect is paramount. For example, a Black Tie dress code means Hugh Grant; well, what he wears! A traditional dinner suit, white dress shirt, a proper bow tie which requires tying, and black, polished shoes. Perfect. Respectful. What about the individual? That very attire tells me so much about him. He knows how to dress. David Tenant, on the other hand? Expressing his individuality? Of sorts. Rather, showy and embarrassing.
I could discuss dress until the cows come home. In Edinburgh on Friday, it was the usual sea of black, save the obligatory hideous tan shoes that men insist on wearing with their dark suits or chinos. Why? Who can possibly think they go? Slippers would be preferable! Buoyed by the sight of the odd Barbour/chinos combo, it was only to be let down by the orange shoes … Don’t start me on table manners!
Help! It’s 19:17 and I’ve hardly begun. Well, 640 words but … Soon be time for the Antiques Roadshow. Sunday evening and one of the few things worth watching nowadays. I love the war memorabilia and the associated wonderful stories; those of true courage and selflessness now, too, all but consigned to the past, as though another world. It feels as though it was. Then, there are the paintings, the incredible jewellery, and the owners who – once given some soaring valuation – claim they will never sell. Always makes me smile! Was it last week, some guy appeared dressed in the most ridiculous attire which turned out to be vintage Vivienne Westwood. How did that woman ever make it as an acclaimed fashion designer? I suppose she was an individual who catered for the individual! Shouldn’t I be applauding? I suppose I should but, then, again, there’s no accounting for taste. One thing, though, how many of the willing clones of today would ever dare to wear Vivienne Westwood? God forbid, they might stand out!
Being Sunday, I switched on Michael Ball’s Sunday Love Songs, this morning, in the ever-vain hope that it had improved. Nope. Still desperate and that’s from somebody who loves Michael Ball. That’s the problem, there’s very little of him – aside from the fact that he’s not even there! There’s no free-styling; instead, there is a strict format, most of which requires a bucket. The Love Letter! You know when something is soooo bad that you just have to listen? I read somewhere that these poor people are given help with said letters … Seriously? Is that before or after the lobotomy?! In my defence, the music used to be good but now … much the same week-in-week-out. Who’d have thought?
I listen to Scott Mills, Radio 2, in the morning. I actually like him; his sarcasm and self-deprecation. However, he, too, has to deal with Joe Public, God help him! One of his daily items is the Easiest Quiz, its difficulty being its delivery at speed. Knowledge required? Virtually zero. Ignorance exposed? Minimal, by design. Best not to delve too deep, or expand. Tasked with naming a famous Jane – on Thursday, I think – the female caller was snookered. Struggling, she named an old classmate. Rejected. Scott, then, went on to list the array of famous Janes she could have called upon, one of which was Jane Austen. Said caller scoffed. Jane Austen? Much too young for her … Come on! Jane Austen? Only one of the greatest and most beloved writers in the history of English Literature! Ignorance exposed? Affirmative – with bells on!
20:43. Oh, help! Failed miserably. Just enough time to mention my email from BT informing me that my landline is to go. I have no choice but to connect it to my internet router and have been sent instructions and the necessary ‘equipment’. No choice. Excellent. In an area with very poor mobile and internet reception, the landline is essential, never mind for emergency peace of mind. What now? For all those who live alone, pray! No phone reception, poor internet … pray! Nothing sinister to worry about. Nothing at all!
‘Do not give way to useless alarm; though it is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain.’
Jane Austen, Pride & Prejudice.
Sure! Two centuries on, there is every occasion, believe me.
This is Trish, signing off.
