Brevity at last

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

The world is crammed with news. Terrible things are happening in Yemen. Travellers are being evicted in Basildon. Liberal Democrats are making speeches. A man stabbed a burglar to death. At fashion week, apparently the Burberry collection is ‘dreamy’. On the wireless, a man appears to be talking, quite seriously, about demonic possession. As if it is an actual thing.

Meanwhile I sit in the eye of the work storm and feel slightly peculiar.

My brain has fizzled, like an old electric light, and turned itself off. So today I have no useful words for you.

Except I did take last night off and watch Downton Abbey, which was so delightful that all other television now seems a bit of a letdown. It’s cleverly written, beautifully shot, and superbly acted. Maggie Smith alone is worth the price of admission. No one can arch a horrified eyebrow like she can.

And I know I should be thinking of serious things like the sovereign debt crisis, but oh, oh, the frocks. Everyone talks about Julian Fellowes, but really they should be yelling about the costume designer. Elizabeth McGovern’s velvet evening coat was a thing of such loveliness that I sat and gazed at it in awe and wonder. (I determined at once to wear nothing but velvet from now on.) I don’t generally get that excited about clothes, but very occasionally I see something so beautiful that I get a twist in my stomach. This was one of those times.

Now back to my researches I go.

 

Some quick pictures for you:

A dear little robin:

Wild evening sky:

Someone knows it is fashion week, so she is doing her best modelly poses. Pah, she is saying, those Burberry girls have nothing on me. I am the PIGEON (and everyone else can just bugger off):

Someone really should take her up and make her famous. It seems wrong that there are people in the world who have never seen that face.

Hill:

And RIP to dear, cantankerous, brilliant old Ginger McCain, who died today. He performed the extraordinary feat of training Red Rum on the Southport sands to win three Grand Nationals. He delighted generations of race-goers, and never saw a spade he would not call a spade. He will be much missed.

(Beautiful photograph sadly uncredited.)

(And this lovely one of Red Rum winning his third National is from the Press Association.)