Lobelia Time
9 August

Well, we are into what should be the height of the summer and, frankly, it is a wash out.

We are having the sort of weather at which I can remember my mother looking in dismay and saying "Oh, the poor little families" anguishing about the spoilt holidays.

The inclement weather has done nothing to dissuade our garden from growing tall. Two years ago we bought a Queen Victoria lobelia which should grow two feet tall and give out bright red flowers. The first year, understandably, it did little to fulfil its potential. Last year, it was a bit cramped by other more successful blooms in the bed. This year, it is tall, proud and lush and topped by a froth of crimson flowers.

The big news this week comes, as seems the case at the present, from work. An emergency meeting on late Tuesday afternoon revealed that our sibling training partner in Ambition:IT, Mercia, have taken the decision to withdraw from the project. As far as I can see, they have taken the decision to jump just moments before they were pushed.

The short term effect is that there will have to be a massive reorganisation. It is a time for cool heads and calm decision making. Instead, we have been faced by a succession of headless chickens squawking because they do not know what is going on. I suppose I have a clear decision to take; do I let things slide and hope that it all works out to my advantage or do I take the bull by the horns and make a positive intervention and hope that I can limit my involvement?

In keeping with the irony of the moment, the day after that, I had a meeting with the doctor to discuss my progress. The last meeting was back in May, at that point I had just returned from holiday in Cornwall to find that my colleague, Dave, had resigned. That didn't seem to be the time to come off medication. Having survived on my own for a while and, then, having inducted Mitch into the mysteries of Ambition:IT, I had hoped that this would be the moment. But really it was not to be. At least these crises keep happening before talking to the doctor rather than after.

So, I'm still on the tablets for a while longer.

Once we hit the weekend, Ross and I took a quick trip into town to retrieve my birthday present from the framers - I commissioned a portrait from him and I think the final result is rather good; it has been admired in many quarters. I think that its hanging place is likely to be on the chimney breast in my study but that will mean having to completely re-think the colour scheme that I had been intending to introduce when I decorate. Prevarication has its benefits after all.

We also finally made it to the Fireplace shop in Crosby and have ordered both a fender for the front room and a grate for the kitchen. These are now both on order and, when they arrive, should be an asset to both rooms.

I settled down whilst Ross rested and polished off Dan Brown's Angels and Demons. I read his The Da Vinci Code in Cornwall. This opus preceded it chronologically but was much the same sort of story with a chase against time fleshed out with (some interesting) arcane knowledge. It's not worth more than two stars. It will never be made into a film, however. I can't imagine the Vatican ever consenting to allow holy places to be used as a film set.