We are back into one of my favourite times of the year. The hour has changed. There are evenings to be savoured. Journeys home from work are completed in the light. Plants are flowering. Daffodils. Blossom. A lot of forsythia in this area.
I should be feeling more like writing, communicating, contacting people, telephoning. But I don't. Putting this journal together doesn't have the impetus it once had. I've been covering this by back writing (ie writing up entries weeks after the event as if written contemporaneously). I'm not sure about that at all. I certainly think about and retain the sorts of things I want to write about. It's just the act of committing everything to (virtual) paper is delayed.
So, I've decided this time to make a major, catching up, retrospective entry rather than back write.
Anyhow, I left you at the point at which my car had been stolen and I thought that it had gone forever. Well, that was not to be. Early that week I received a phone call from the police. The car had been found out at ICI's Rock Savage works in Runcorn. The car was driveable. So, with the aid of the AA, under the orders of my insurance company, the car was taken to a garage in Widnes. Later that week, I received a phone call from the insurance company's valuer. The repairs were going to cost more than the value of the car and therefore it was a write off.
It's a sadness as I know that the car was easily roadworthy. It had just completed a major trip to London and back. Still, these things happen. The car was taken off for salvage. I retrieved my belongings from the boot. As a footnote, the garage in Widnes went out of business the following week. A down beat saga all in all.
I've had the benefit of travelling by bus these past couple of weeks then. And it has been a benefit. I've seen acres of daffodils that I would not have otherwise observed. And I've had plenty of opportunity to read. I'm majoring on history at present with the fascinating story of the bathroom and the watercloset through the ages (first known baths date back to Knossos, Roman occupied Britain had better sanitation than London throughout most of the Victorian age, etc) and a biography of the typhus virus. This fascinating book demonstrates that all of the history taught at school is bunk. With their emphasis on battles, treaties, inventions, etc, most historians miss the point.
As Hans Zinsser writes...
Swords and lances, arrows, machine guns and even high explosives have had far less power over the fates of nations than the typhus louse, the plague flea and the yellow fever mosquito. Civilisations have retreated from the plasmodium of malaria and armies have crumbled into rabbles under the onslaught of cholera spirilla or of dysentery and typhoid bacilli. Huge areas have been devastated by the trypanosome that travels on the wings of the tsetse fly and generations have been harassed by the syphilis of a courtier. War and conquest and that herd existence which is an accompaniment of what we call civilisation have merely set the stage for these more powerful agents of human tragedy.
The weekend after the car was written off Ross came to stay. We lost out by not going to Manchester to see Verdi's Falstaff at the RNCM but we did get to attend Cavalleria rusticana and Pagliacci performed by our old friends The Chisinau National Opera who gave us Aida last year.
As with the Aida, production values were sparse but with these two operas, set in operatic, peasant, never-never-land, that is a virtue. With Aida, it was an impediment. Orchestral values were much improved. The string sounds were still a little undernourished but overall, once the ear had adjusted to the smaller than usual size of the ensemble, the spirit of the music shone through. Chorus possessed a bold and big sound. They didn't do much when they were not singing. Soloists were appropriately impassioned. A more than adequate night out.
Over the weekend, parents, Linda and Mary came to visit and there were lots of photographs of Mary and some of the rest of my family. Mary liked my wooden floors. She could stamp on them and make a good hard noise. Wicked.
Apparently she has a good memory for me. When she looks through photograph albums, she can pick me out and identify Uncle David. Ooh, er.
I also got the chance to get out into the garden.
I know that this doesn't look very much but a lot of hard work went into cleaning and clearing and weeding that flower bed.
Somehow, despite the tangled layers of undergrowth and root systems, some spring flowers are managing to poke their way through.
I'm also continuing my love of cut flowers indoors. I also have a vase on my desk in work. Lilies are the current favourite for their exuberance and nice pong.
Midweek I took in Mahler's 6th and Singin' in the Rain at the Phil.
The Philharmonic concert was fun. I went with
Roland who is a big Mahler aficionado.
The crack of doom was accomplished by an enormous mallet being wielded by
one of the six percussionists. Mahler originally scored three hammer blows but,
hit by a crisis of superstition, excised the third. On the night, the
percussionist prepared for the third blow, encouraging us to believe that we
were to hear the original scoring, but then failed to follow through. A
theatrical gesture which would be lost on CD.
I met lots of old friends in the audience including
Nigel. Most didn't know I was back.
Some weren't aware I'd been away. 
Singin' in the Rain was much less eventful but had better dance routines.
The following weekend took me down to London to see Ross.
The major artistic event was a performance of Rossini's Barber of Seville by English National Opera.
Christopher Maltman gave us an excellent characterful Figaro, Christine Rice shone as a rich and fruity mezzo Rosina, Toby Spence's Almaviva looked right and got round all the notes. But the star of the evening was Gordon Sandison's Bartolo, a study in buffo singing and rounded characterisation.
Elsewhere, we met up with James. But the majority of the weekend was spent relaxing and talking. We laughed a lot at people on the television. If you turn the sound off, their body language is very silly. I think that it is something to do with the tendency of the English language to break into an iambic rhythm. Maybe there is such a thing as iambic body language.
We also talked about world conflict. Ross has just received his membership of Friends of the Earth. Apparently, BP are beginning to spend large amounts of money on renewable energy sources. I think this is because they do not want to be held hostage when oil producing states withdraw supplies. The twentieth century was aberrant in that its great opposition was between capitalism and communism. That has, by and large, subsided. We are reverting to a more deep seated opposition - Christianity and Islam. Look at the Balkans. Christians will unite in opposition. Even Gerry Adams and David Trimble will be able to shake hands on that one.
And we talked about us and the future and sensible ways of managing Ross's move to Crosby when the time is right.
And the hour did change. And there have been evenings in the garden for the first time this week. Huzzah.
Two quick jokes to finish with. First from Colin in Lowestoft.
NEWS FLASH........................
Japan has banned all animal movements after discovering some nibbled beds in Tokyo.
They think it could be an outbreak of Futon Mouse.
And this, from Dave at work.
Perpetual motion:
Toast always lands buttered-side-down.
Cats always land on their feet.
Strap a slice of buttered toast to the back of a cat and drop it. It will hover, slowly spinning, inches above the ground. This energy can be harnessed with a dynamo.