Memories of Maggie
Mental clearout as I took a lunchtime stroll down the river, and made a few decisions about future directions, and to get back on track with my own plans and schemes.
Couple of bracing notes from Randolph today. Looking forward to seeing him again and putting the world to rights. He was saying that his current thinking is that he traces all that's wrong with, say, Opera and is that art is being ruined by intellect. He told me about going to a horribly spiky modern Opera at Glyndebourne and longing for the parole of intermission "and then everybody I encountered if they were ENJOYING it - a small straw poll, no doubt - but did not meet A SINGLE PERSON who said they were."
More delays on the trains going home tonight. Home, and I watched a drama about Margaret Thatcher's last days in power, which had a great central performance by the slightly too gorgeous Lindsay Duncan.
Much as I detested Thatcher, this showed nicely the loathsome lickspittles that clung around her, and the sexism waiting to barge into the Cabinet. It suggested she was such an "Iron Lady" because this is the only way she could see to wield power over men. Although I have the impression she had the capacity to be rather charming on a one-to-one basis, before she went completely mad of course.
During my lunchtime walk I discussed with Mum and Mason the reasoning which resulted in the palatial catflap below. Mason explained that it was because Salty didn't like the wind blowing in his face. And that the white pelted fiend trod mud in the house. This edifice (complete with its own garden, is the result). You can read more in Mum's blog...
Mental clearout as I took a lunchtime stroll down the river, and made a few decisions about future directions, and to get back on track with my own plans and schemes.
Couple of bracing notes from Randolph today. Looking forward to seeing him again and putting the world to rights. He was saying that his current thinking is that he traces all that's wrong with, say, Opera and is that art is being ruined by intellect. He told me about going to a horribly spiky modern Opera at Glyndebourne and longing for the parole of intermission "and then everybody I encountered if they were ENJOYING it - a small straw poll, no doubt - but did not meet A SINGLE PERSON who said they were."
More delays on the trains going home tonight. Home, and I watched a drama about Margaret Thatcher's last days in power, which had a great central performance by the slightly too gorgeous Lindsay Duncan.
Much as I detested Thatcher, this showed nicely the loathsome lickspittles that clung around her, and the sexism waiting to barge into the Cabinet. It suggested she was such an "Iron Lady" because this is the only way she could see to wield power over men. Although I have the impression she had the capacity to be rather charming on a one-to-one basis, before she went completely mad of course.
During my lunchtime walk I discussed with Mum and Mason the reasoning which resulted in the palatial catflap below. Mason explained that it was because Salty didn't like the wind blowing in his face. And that the white pelted fiend trod mud in the house. This edifice (complete with its own garden, is the result). You can read more in Mum's blog...
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