Dull

– Well, that's April coming to an end already. I had hardly noticed it was here, to tell the truth. You know, it sometimes feels as if the months are slipping by more quickly than they used to.
– I'm sure they're not. What you're describing is probably just a minor discrepancy in your sense of the passing of time. Probably due to nothing more than your advancing age.
– Thank you. That's a relief. Or perhaps it was because I have been in a particularly cheerful and optimistic mood, and the days have flown by in a joyous blur.
– Have you been particularly cheerful?
– No. Not really. But it sounded better than that I was getting old.
– I didn't say you were getting old.
– It sounded like it to me.
– Maybe I did, then. I can't remember, to be honest.
– Perhaps old age is creeping up on all of us.
– Hardly. I am sure I have my best years ahead of me.
– You mean life will get better than it's been up to this point?
– It would be nice to think so.
– Whereas all I have to look forward to are the days speeding past at an ever-increasing rate?
– I suppose life isn't always fair.
– What if I could slow down the passage of time? I mean, just make it seem slower. To get the most out of each day.
– You could try doing something tedious: that's usually an effective way of dragging out the day. Read a dull book. Try filing the pile of old letters and bills collecting next to the printer. Clean out the interior of the car.
– It seems to be working. I'm feeling the day stretching out interminably as you speak.
– As long as you feel better as a result.
– I'm not so sure I do.

Fortune

I am feeling fragile today: admittedly, not so uncommon a problem for me nowadays, but probably brought on by recent emotional and physical stress, coupled with lack of sleep and a somewhat irregular and insubstantial diet over the last few days. As if to underline the depths of my pitiful condition, I was thinking of washing the car this afternoon. But then decided it would keep another week without risk of too much public outrage, and had a cup of tea instead.

All this has clearly been brought about by taking part in a concert with the choir yesterday evening. Although it is generally a rewarding and enjoyable experience, it is inevitably demanding to stand before an eager audience of countless dozens of people and perform a challenging piece: in this case, the sometimes delicate and exquisite but mainly loud and boisterous Carmina Burana. It was not a work I knew at all, apart from one or two particularly famous sections, but it does grow on you over time; although having rehearsed it for the last four months, I was on the verge of tipping over the edge and starting to get sick of it, particularly the bits I could never get right. I am sure it will still be buzzing around my head for weeks to come. Once you overdose on these things, it takes a while to wean yourself off.

The central theme of the work is the mediaeval image of the wheel of fortune. It does not quite resonate, perhaps, with modern audiences, who, if they are like me, tend to be reminded of a popular television game show, involving a wheel. And presumably a fortune, if you got the answers right. In mediaeval times they apparently took all this far more seriously, with the wheel, whisked by the capricious goddess herself, raising hapless mortals to the dizzy heights of success before plunging them down into the depths of failure. I think there is a lesson there for us all. And it might have made for a more entertaining game show.

Chivalry

– So did you do anything to celebrate today?
– Celebrate? Today? Did I do anything to celebrate today?
– Yes. St George's Day. The day on which you should take pride in your – Englishness.
– Of course. I've never really got into the swing of St George's Day. Not sure what to make of it, to tell the truth.
– Well, I suppose you can try and do something typically English. Perhaps recite a few words of Wordsworth. Earth has not anything to show more fair. That sort of thing.
– And there was one about daffodils, I remember.
– Indeed. Although I suppose roses would be more appropriate, as our national flower. Or you could celebrate by taking a relaxing stroll through our green and pleasant land. Or even partake of one of our national dishes.
– Such as?
– I'm rather partial to our many and varied steamed puddings. With custard. Crème anglaise, as the French would say. Were we to ask them.
– You see, I'm never sure where St George comes into it.
– Into custard?
– No, into the day itself. He doesn't seem very – local.
– True. But that's of minor importance. I think he personifies something very close to the English spirit.
– He killed a dragon.
– Yes. You can imagine that's the sort of thing that would appeal to the average chivalrous Englishman faced with a distressed damsel.
– Not much fun for the dragon, though.
– I suspect any dragon with his wits about him would come to expect it as an occupational hazard: passing knights taking a pot shot at him. After all, if he goes about distressing damsels, he has only himself to blame.

Roses.

Egg

– There seems to be a lot of chocolate around the house.
– Yes. Easter, you know. It's traditional. At this time of year.
–  Easter was weeks ago.
– Well, yes. I try my best, but it takes a while to get through it all. But I'll get there. Eventually.
– If you should need a hand –
– A hand?
– To help out with all the chocolate. You don't want it cluttering the house for ever.
– I'm sure it won't be for ever.
– It's already been three weeks or so. And you don't seem to have made much of a dent in it.
– I don't know. There was a lot more of it to start with. You should have seen it. I think I've actually done quite well. Sometimes there's a limit to how much chocolate you can face in one day.
– Precisely. That's why I thought it might be helpful if I were to lighten the load. It would make it seem you were on the home stretch. Practically on the finishing line.
– True. But then it would only make your house look untidy.
– I could find space. Tidy some junk away into the loft, that sort of thing.
– That's very considerate of you.
– What are friends for?

Legacy

It has been a week of mixed emotions, from the senseless horror of the Boston bombings on Monday to today's sombre and moving funeral ceremony for Baroness Thatcher. In different ways, moments of history in the making. Random acts of terrorism strike at all of us, making us fearful of the society we have created. On a more personal level, funerals likewise stir up strong emotions, challenging us to reflect on our own achievements and failings as well as those of the departed.

It is intriguing how politicians argue about the legacy of the Thatcher years, some claiming we are all Thatcherites now, in as much as the world has changed so radically since the 1980s that no future government would want to turn back the clock. It is as if we have collectively changed the way we think: to view society through the eyes of the previous generation may be as difficult as getting into the minds of  people of previous centuries. Acts of terrorism have the same effect: in an instant we begin to look at the world in a different light: things can no longer be taken for granted.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Neighbours

– At least it seems to be getting a bit warmer. Almost spring-like now. Even if today was blustery and wet in parts.
– Yes...
– A few more blossoms bravely peeping over the flowerbeds, a few more birds cheerfully greeting the dawn; that sort of thing.
– Mmm...
– Sorry – you seem somewhat preoccupied?
– Do I? Possibly a little tired, that's all.
– Have you had a busy day?
– Not really. Not at all, to tell the truth. I was half thinking this afternoon of getting the bicycle out, but then I thought it was a little too windy. Never sure what might happen on a bike, in the wind.
– Perhaps your momentum would have carried you along unscathed by the buffeting.
– Perhaps. But it was a risk I wasn't prepared to take. Though I did manage to wash the car.
– Despite the buffeting.
– Despite the buffeting. Although at times it was touch and go. And then, just as the weather started to improve, the football came on.
– That was a pity. Might have been nice to have gone for a stroll in the brief sunny spell we had.
– Yes. But what can you do? They don't pause the football coverage just to let people go out for a stroll.
– True... Although I thought you had one of those recording devices that allow you to pause live television. So actually you could have paused the football and gone out for a stroll.
– But if you pause it, it's no longer live.
– Of course.
– And before you manage to get home, some friend or neighbour will stop you in the street and tell you the result.
– Do you have that many friends?
– I have neighbours. Several.
– Perhaps if you had tried to avoid talking to them. Tried creeping silently past their house so that they didn't notice you. Or if they did, you could have made a sudden dash for your front door. It's maybe not very sociable, but certainly effective.

Storage

I was looking at furniture today. In a showroom: not in my living room; or anyone else's living room. Although your friends would doubtless feel complimented by your displaying a polite level of interest in their new sofa, there comes a point when they might be discomforted by your scrutinising it in too much detail: sizing it up with your tape measure, say, or photographing it from multiple angles on your smart phone. But in a furniture store this sort of thing is allowed, and even encouraged. The staff offer to make you warm beverages, and will happily sit and chat with you about their furniture as if they had all the time in the world.

I didn't buy anything, but I may go back one day soon. If I can make up my mind. It takes me a while to decide what it is I want, and whether it will look good in the confined space of my living room. When I first moved into the house, I managed to buy essential items, such as a bed, and a fridge, and a piano, quite promptly. Though not all these are in my living room: you couldn't really get a bed and a fridge and a piano in it, not unless you were to put the sofa and television in the kitchen. But less essential items get forgotten, and years go by without me getting around to doing something about them. Today I was looking for a bookcase, a replacement for the inadequate one I have at the moment. I say inadequate; but in fact it does quite a respectable job of holding books: it hasn't dropped one yet. Only, my collection of books is starting to swamp it, and is spilling over to the floor and filling up odd corners. I could try putting up shelves instead, only I'm not very good at fixing heavy objects to walls: it is a recipe for disaster.

Glass

It seems a long time ago – a different lifetime, almost – since the 1980s: going to university; starting my first job; marriage. Grown-up at last, or about as grown-up as I ever managed. The passing of Lady Thatcher a couple of days ago brings it all back to mind: her premiership coincided with those formative years. The media coverage of her life has highlighted the highs and lows of those times: Britain dragged into a modern market economy at the expense of traditional industries; the privatisation of utility companies and selling off of council houses; poll tax riots, miners' strikes, disputes over the European Union, war in the South Atlantic. It is difficult to remember how confrontational politics was then (when we tend to think it is pretty confrontational now), although we are soon reminded by the vehemence of recent comments on Twitter and the Web.

How do you put all this into perspective? There comes a point when you can recognise the impact of key historical figures and events without necessarily coming to a conclusion whether they are good or bad. And perhaps it is naive to think of any significant events as being entirely good or bad: maybe things are inherently more mixed than that, are shades of grey; and what we actually get to know of them, of their motivations and consequences, are even greyer. Yet there are people who will treat half-formed opinions seen through a glass darkly as being absolute truths, justification enough for whatever course of action they want to pursue. Or maybe it's just a problem I have: everything to me looks grey: everything is glimpsed through that dark glass or unpolished mirror: now we know in part.

I have a friend who would frequently get worked up over the ancient Romans. The Greeks he was very fond of, the fount of all learning and all that. But the Romans were, despite their straight roads and under-floor heating, basically barbarians. I could not feel so passionately about them: the Romans simply were, and I never felt they could be dismissed out of hand, or, for that matter, put on a pedestal.

Mallard

I was having a stroll this evening, shortly before dusk, by the side of the mere; watching the waterfowl paddling to and fro; the way they do. It was not long before the park shut, so there were few souls to be seen. I never used to be all that fond of the park, always associating visits with Bank Holidays, when it would be unpleasantly crowded and cost a fortune to keep the children entertained. But just before closing time, when the visitors have left for their tea, or, in some cases, dinner, the place becomes quiet and practically desolate, with deer staring at you as an unwelcome intruder who had better not get too close. The lapping waters of the mere take on an Arthurian quality, as if at any moment you might see an arm rise from the depths, clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, and wave a sword at you.

There is something rejuvenating about going for a stroll beside a large body of water in the early evening. It works wonders for dispelling the stresses and strains of the day. Ducks in particular are very effective in cheering you up. I don't know if it's their placid character (apart from when they're chasing other ducks): the way they glide effortlessly across the waves without a feather out of place. Or their beaks: there is something about their beaks; on other birds, beaks just look like – beaks; but on ducks, they are somehow so much more. But don't ask me what, exactly. Or the way they go around in pairs, like an old married couple, content in each other's company. Who knows. I have a couple of wooden ducks in my living room, just to remind me.

Gradient

It might at last be getting a little warmer. It has been quite pleasant when the sun is shining, though there are still remnants of snow up on the hills. With a bit of perseverance you can find almost enough to walk in, as this picture from a few days ago shows.

Woodland scene. With snow.

But the snow is beginning to outstay its welcome: somebody really ought to drop a few hints that it's time to be gone now, given it is practically summer. It would be quite nice, for example, to turn off the central heating, or at least turn it down a few notches. But there is an unfortunate design flaw in my house, whereby somebody carelessly placed it with the front door facing due north and the back door facing due south. So there is a noticeable temperature gradient across the house, with the dining room postively sweltering when the sun is out, while the living room is encased in winter's icy grasp. It can be embarassing to be basking in the back garden one moment only to have to put a coat on to answer the front door.

Folly

– Did you manage to escape?
– Escape?
– The annual festivities. April Fools' Day. The great celebration of – jollity. And japes.
– Was it April Fools' Day?
– Yesterday.
– Of course. I didn't really notice.
– No amusing incidents, then?
– Nothing out of the ordinary. Though I suppose it's difficult to tell sometimes.
– How do you mean?
– It's not always obvious, is it, whether something is real, or just an elaborate hoax. If it's a convincing hoax, I mean. In fact, you could say that about life in general.
– That it's just a hoax? Our entire life is a hoax? All we know of the world, all human experience through the ages, is just an empty delusion? A cruel deception by some heartless supernatural prankster?
– Yes. Maybe.
– That would be disturbing.
– Yes. If you take it to its logical conclusion. But then again –
– Yes?
– I could be wrong.
– Should I be worried?
– Probably.