George

– Remarkable to think it's 400 years since the death of Shakespeare.
– It was last Saturday.
– I know. I thought being a few days out on top of 400 years was neither here nor there. An insignificant error. To have said it has been 400 years and 5 days since his death might have sounded a little pedantic.
– And yet accurate.
– And they say it was his birthday, too.
– So they say. But are they sure? I think the historical record is lacking.
– You seem a little obsessed with detail.
– I find it is always best to stick to the facts.
– You'll be telling me next that you don't believe in St George, whose feast day was also on Saturday.
– Well, there probably was a saint named George at some point.
– With a dragon?
– Perhaps I have more difficulty with the dragon. Sometimes things are exaggerated in legends.
– You mean the dragon might have actually been something more down to earth? So perhaps he saved the princess from, say, a large dog?
– Large dogs can be quite threatening.
– It's just that slaying a large dog, especially with a lance, doesn't sound all that impressive. A bit cowardly, in fact. The dog wouldn't stand much of a chance.
– Sometimes it's best not to dig too deep into these things. On the plus side, perhaps there really was a dragon.
– Do you really think so?
– No. 

Ninety

I have been trying to get outdoors in the evenings, seeing it has been warm and summery these past few days. It has not been easy. There seems to be a lot of traffic around nowadays, none of it moving particularly quickly, which gets in the way as I try to get home from work and drags out what would normally be an irritatingly long drive into a frustratingly irritating one. And every evening it seems there is something I need to get from the supermarket, causing a further delay, it being physically impossible to manage to buy a week's shopping all in one go. And every evening I have to spend an age cooking dinner and clearing up afterwards, despite it being deliberately as simple as I can make it short of living off nothing but toast, with the actual eating taking only an unrewarding minute or two at most. I suppose this last duty is not essential, the cooking and eating of dinner, I mean, and I could just go for raw bread if I wanted to save the effort of switching on the toaster, but after a difficult day at work and commuting back and forth, you need something to lift the spirits. Luckily there is chocolate left from Easter, which also helps.

None of which has any bearing on today being the Queen's ninetieth birthday, becoming the oldest as well as the longest serving British monarch, a symbol of constancy in a rapidly changing world. It has been interesting, and perhaps a little unsettling, to see news footage of the Royal Family through the generations, to see the next line of monarchs, Charles, William, George: a family tree stretching long into the future; beyond my future.

Potato

Spring, they keep telling me, has arrived. But to date the weather has been worryingly variable, with the occasionally sunny spell being harried by sullen downpours. I have planted a couple of flowers in zinc pots in the front garden (violets I think they were meant to be) to try to add a splash or two of colour. They are doing well, given the vagaries of the climate. And I scattered something or other over the lawn in a futile attempt to fend off the luxuriant carpet of moss that has sprung up and chased off all hope of grass. But gardening has never been one of my strengths. To pit your wits against the forces of nature has always seemed a somewhat pointless task.

At least the evenings are getting steadily brighter. I ought to be outside, making more of them. But it is one of those times of the year when there seems to be a lot of football on the television, as the Premier League and FA Cup and Champions League and Europa League all reach their final stages. It is all too easy to settle down on the sofa and watch a game or two rather than, say, nip outside for a quick triathlon. I can get the ironing done, but not much else. So even if I end up as an overweight couch potato, at least my shirts will look smart.

Baskerville

It may not rank amongst the greatest of personal achievements, but it is with at least a modicum of pride that I can announce I have finally completed reading the entire collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, all fifty-six of them, plus the four novels. Admittedly, it would have been a more impressive feat had I managed it in the course of, say, a weekend instead of a large number of years (I can't remember how many exactly: more than five, less than ten, I think), but I have never been one for rushing voraciously through great works of literature, and hence polishing off one volume every year or so seemed like a sensible rate. It is best not to get too obsessive about this kind of thing.

I am not sure what I have learnt. Admittedly, I am in awe of Holmes's powers of deduction, but I doubt I could ever put them into practice myself. I cannot see myself making a success of being a consulting detective: I don't have a network of shady contacts in the criminal underworld (as far as I know) to help me, or even a large dressing-up box to furnish a variety of cunning disguises. And I do tend to keep well away from potential sources of conflict and peril. But, just in case, I should make sure I'm up to speed on identifying local mud samples. You never know when it may turn out useful.

"Exactly, Watson. Pathetic and futile. But is not all life pathetic and futile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp. And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than a shadow – misery."

Paint

– Back to work tomorrow. Holidays never seem to last very long, compared to the months of backbreaking toil in between.
– You work in an office.
– And?
– It's hardly backbreaking.
– It can get uncomfortable sitting down all day.
– Try standing. Get one of those desks where you have to stand. Basically, a desk with long legs. Or just shove a couple of bricks under the one you've got.
– You're not being very sympathetic. As I was saying, holidays never seem to last very long.
– You didn't seem to do much with it. Barely left the house.
– It was raining quite a lot last week. And, anyway, I was painting the bathroom. That's why I was in most days.
– The bathroom doesn't look any different.
– Granted it's a similar pale blue, but I think you will find it's a shade lighter. And besides, you can't see the cracks any more.
– I thought the cracks added character. And ventilation.
– I was never that attached to them.