Talent

With the long light evenings, you feel you ought to be outdoors doing something, perhaps involving a barbecue, or at very least a lawnmower. There are festivals breaking out locally, things going on in parks. Even the cat is reluctant to stay in more than she has to. And yet what do I do? Stay indoors to watch interminable semifinals of Britain's Got Talent and preview programmes for the World Cup, in anticipation of spending most of June and July watching the World Cup itself, and Wimbledon, and the Proms, and the summer is gone before you have managed to dig out the slug pellets.

I ought to get out more. It is alright for Cat: she can just wander in and out as the whim takes her, with an endless supply of food on hand to sustain her prowlings, and presumably an endless supply of entertainments to divert her in the garden. Whereas I clearly have various responsibilities to attend to, which take up most of the day, and the onerous duties of cooking my own dinner, which takes up most of the evening. At which point I have lost all enthusiasm for flighty al fresco activities, but prefer to vegetate on the sofa. Such is life.

Democracy

– Well, that's the Euro election over with. For another five years, I think. Though I'm not sure.
– Somehow they never seem quite as dramatic as the UK parliamentary elections. They lack the feverishly extended build-up and nail-biting finale.
– I have to admit that, before the election, I couldn't name a single one of our MEPs.
– And now?
– I still can't. But at least I have a better idea of what parties they represent.
– But do you need to be able to name any of them?
– Well, one day I might want to contact them.
– About?
– I don't know... Uneven pavements?
– I'm not sure your MEP will be that interested. I suspect he or she will be more concerned with European matters. The price of milk, that sort of thing.
– But not uneven pavements?
– I don't think so.
– Potholes?
– They are a bit like pavements, aren't they?
– There seemed to be a lot of parties on the ballot paper.
– Indeed. Many I hadn't heard of.
– Perhaps I could start my own.
– I think, in a democracy, you are entitled to. Will it have anything to do with potholes?
– There seems to be an unmet need.

Gravity

– It is easy to forget, sometimes, how some of the most ordinary of things in life are also the most remarkable.
– I suppose so. Were you thinking of anything in particular?
– I don't know... Perhaps, if I was forced to give an example, there is the moment in the evolution of our species when our ancestors first stood upright, and indeed walked forward boldly on two legs.
– I do that all the time.
– But that's the point: we now do it all the time. But imagine the thrill of those first faltering steps. We take for granted the complexity of it all: the coordination of muscle and sinew required to haul our flimsy frames up against the crushing force of gravity.
– Is this anything to do with your accident?
– It wasn't really an accident–
– More just tripping over the pavement.
– Well, yes. But it just goes to highlight the immense achievement of being able to walk. And the difficulty of navigating pavements.

Cryptic

There has been a lot of discussion about online security in the news recently; especially the issue of the integrity of passwords, and the antisocial activities of hackers who try their darnedest to infiltrate the accounts of hard-working folk who never did anyone any harm and only want to surf the internet to keep in touch with distant friends and relatives and enrich their knowledge of the world about them. And, instead, they are forced to change their passwords to protect their privacy. Which sounds a simple enough task, other than we are all burdened nowadays with hundreds of passwords to hundreds of different accounts, some of which insist that you update your password at frequent intervals, and not just to the name of your favourite pet but to some immemorable string of random alphanumeric characters with the odd punctuation mark thrown in for good measure. There comes a point, quite soon on for some of us, when all this starts to fall apart, and each new password ejects an existing one from long-term memory, and then in time ejects several, until all that is left is a meaningless jumble. And you are driven in desperation to write them down on small slips of paper that you secrete in obscure places for safety until you realise you cannot even remember where you secreted them, and you end up plastering them to the front of the refrigerator with a selection of novelty fridge magnets. And so much for online security.

Stroll

– It seems to be getting warmer. Lighter evenings. Trees in leaf. Almost as if–
– As if spring is here.
– Yes: that's it.
–  Maybe. Who knows? It's been like this before. And then got cold and wet again.
– But this time? Perhaps–?
– Perhaps. We'll just have to wait and see. And take advantage of the weather while we have the chance.
– It's quite pleasant to go for a walk in the evenings when it's like this. Somewhere pretty. Experience the gathering dusk. Birds. Singing.
– I suppose it is one of the most beautiful moments of the day, dusk. That and dawn, of course.
– I've never really been one for dawn. It never quite arrives at the right time of day for me.
– In that you tend to be asleep?
– Yes. I could, at a stretch, get up early to see it, but I don't think I would appreciate it. Not having got up early.
– It's a pity, really.
– Yes...

Elijah

– So you missed Eurovision? The greatest musical event of the year?
– I was busy. At the second greatest musical event of the year. Or so I would like to think.
– What could be worth missing the Eurovision Song Contest?
– The choir. It was our choir concert.
– Was it any good?
– I would like to think so. Although it can be hard to tell from the back row: it's not easy to appreciate the overall effect when you're at the back of the choir and orchestra. You try to gauge it from the audience's expressions: absorbed or bored. Or angry. Or asleep.
– At Eurovision the audience tends to look quite excitable. Lots of flag waving. Though it's hard to know why: to be honest, the songs tend to get a bit predictable. But then they do go over the top on the production: that probably gets the audience worked up somewhat. Maybe it's something you should consider for your choir concerts.
– How do you mean?
– Well, you could try fancy lighting effects. A few dancers, perhaps.
– I'm not sure that would go down well. Wouldn't quite fit in with the story of Elijah. The odd earthquake or thunderbolt, however, might be worth thinking about.

Azalea

The bank holiday weekend has been and gone (although another is near at hand). I did a bit of painting (as in the inside of a cupboard, rather than a landscape or a still life, but the principles are more or less the same) and a bit of gardening, and watched, on and off, the snooker world championship on the television, which I've noticed always tends to be on during the early May bank holiday, almost as if they planned it this way.

Within this hectic schedule of events, I somehow managed to fit in a few walks, taking the new camera with me whenever I felt up to lugging it around. That is the only problem with a DSLR: you cannot readily slip it into a back pocket, especially if you want an extra lens or two, or tripod, or whatever. But I suppose that is the price you have to pay in order to take great photographs. Or, in my case, mediocre, under-exposed, blurry ones.

As it was, the light wasn't at its best when I went out, with the sun reluctant to show itself. I went along to Hare Hill to look at the rhododendrons, which were mostly in their prime, with a few looking a little faded, and a few more which hadn't really got going. They are perhaps not my favourite plant: while the flowers are delicate and colourful, they tend to grow quite large and threaten to take over your garden if you give them half a chance. For this reason they seem to have a bad reputation nowadays, with people frowning on their tendency to invade our quietly unassuming countryside and wipe out the indigenous species. And they don't flower all that long, which doesn't help, either.

Blossom

– I suppose I ought to do something about the garden. It's that time of year, isn't it, when you do things to gardens.
– Some people tend their gardens all year round, perhaps with the exception of the depths of winter.
– I'm sure they do, but I'm afraid my gardening efforts tend to be a bit more haphazard. It rather depends on my busy working schedule. And the weather. And whether I can think of anything more interesting to do.
– You don't seem that dedicated to horticulture?
– I try my best. But it takes time, and expertise, and an ability to tell one plant from another, all of which I am sadly lacking. So I dabble, as best I can, in the hope that I can add a little colour to an otherwise drab garden, and perhaps make the world a slightly more beautiful place.
– And do you?
– Yes and no. Overall it's still pretty drab, but in places a few blossoms manage to survive.
– I suppose it takes time to create a mature garden. Years of nurturing.
– Years? Are you sure? There must be a easier way.