Posted by Tania Kindersley.
I do not know how those of you who have jobs and children and husbands and wives and civil partners and dogs and social lives actually do the whole blog thing. I have to: write a book; be nice to two exceptionally nice canines; call my friends on the telephonic device; and cook food. That's it. I do not have to commute or attend to the conflicting demands of three small people under nine, or listen seriously to another half's woes (or joys, perhaps, on good days), or worry about the school play. And yet there are still days, like today, when I sit down at the end of the week and my mind is as blank as the Arctic tundra.
I do, admittedly, have to tend my obsession with American politics, and in fact all politics; think about different ways to make delicious things to eat; contemplate a bewildering array of ephemera; and, obviously, keep up my typing skills. But really it's not that much.
So I have not much in my poor old head. The day was all eaten by work. When I was not working, I thought of: the Song of Solomon; the musical nature of Hebrew; Salman Rushdie; the faint kitchness of Stratford on Avon; the importance of friendship; whatever happened to Romeo Gigli; and whether I should buy a coat exactly like the one that Benedict Cumberbatch wears in Sherlock.
I also contemplated the greatness of aunts. I spoke to the Beloved Cousin this morning. She is also an aunt, and takes her duties very seriously. My nieces are my joy and pride. The tiny great-nephew came for a visit yesterday, bringing with him gales of happiness. The aunt does not get a good press. She is associated with dowdiness and second-best. Thanks to naughty PG Wodehouse, she is sometimes ascribed a rather gorgon-like aspect. I love being an aunt. I think the aunts need a revamp. It's not the most important thing in the world, what with everything that is going on, but it is my very, very small thought for the day.
I realise that the photographs are getting a bit same old, same old; I have developed a terrible habit of shooting the same things over and over again. But here are a few for your Friday viewing pleasure:
Have again been useless about comments, but in reply to two specific queries:
The little blue flowers are a mystery. I thought they were a type of crocus, but they do look rather like irises. They are only three inches high though. I have a terrible habit of buying and planting bulbs and throwing away the packets and then not remembering.
And the hill is about three miles away from my house, I suppose, as the crow flies. As I come out of my front door and look left, it is what I see. I photograph it with a zoom lens from just outside.
Have a lovely Friday.