Did you think I had given up? well, nearly.

 Is there any place on this, our one and only home planet, where the inhabitants are not dreading each new day's weather? And if you are a climate change denier don't bother to tell me, the science and the poor blighters who fear for their continued existence are against you. As are the young, your children and grandchildren, whose protests are drowned out by the fossil fuel industry, run by fat cats who will all long be dead when Earth becomes uninhabitable.

I am so tired of it all. Even my garden gives me less and less pleasure. The plants that didn't die during last winter's unusual week of hard frost gave up when the temperature climbed to unseasonable heights and prolonged drought in late spring. For six weeks I worked like a maniac to get it all done, at least on the surface, for the Open Gardens weekend. And ended up with a wilderness of volunteer plants and weeds instead of a finely graded display of colourful perennials and flowering shrubs. The people who traipse round the gardens don't look too closely, luckily, but simply stroll through and throw a vague "very nice, thank you" at the owners. I don't really care all that much anymore. I will chat with the few knowledgeable ones who ask intelligent questions or praise a particular arrangement, the others can come and go with as much attention as they pay the space I have worked so hard on.

So, May and June were almost completely taken up with outdoor work. And when I wasn't working outdoors I was inside, out of the heat, my feet up and devouring books. Mostly rubbish, but there were two which I really liked, a Louise Penny Inspector Gamache thriller and a delightful book from an author hitherto unknown to me, namely Stephanie Butland's 'Found In A Bookshop'. It deals with the lives and misfortunes of a group of people during Covid lockdown, mostly unknown to each other, some sad, some uplifting, all very human. And all connected to each other via a bookshop struggling to keep afloat during this most unhappy time. 'A perfect summer read', says the blurb and I agree, although it would have pleased me just as much during any other season. I must warn you it really is for true book lovers only. At the end of each chapter you even get a list of books suitable to cure the particular heartache the chapter deals with. It will not be the last of her novels I read.

And Louise Penny? I just love Chief Inspector Gamache, a man after my own heart. The characters, mostly the inhabitants of the hamlet of 'Three Pines', are people with whom I would love to be friends. 

Apart from physical work and eye strain from reading I have been utterly lazy. There are piles of correspondence gathering dust on my desk, even my solicitor felt it incumbent upon her to threaten me with the imminent "closure of my file" if I didn't reply to her last letter within two weeks. Sad to say she has reason. This is still about my new will and provisions for such time as I am no longer able to take care of myself. Do we ever seriously consider a time when we aren't master of our fate? I hate the thought. My problem is that, for one reason or another, I feel there is really no one who deserves a share of the spoils. I am not rich but my house is worth a fair bit. I can't actually see my daughter being willing to take an inheritance from me, she quite clearly wants nothing to do with me. Or is inheriting money a different matter? My son would gladly take as much as I am willing to leave him, he is the only one in the combined family who needs it. In his case the problem is our differing philosophy and the fact that I have little sympathy for his way of life. I think I am being unreasonable to some extent, his way of life is entirely his own decision. However, seeing that God will get all the credit for whatever I do for him irks me. Beloved's lot will get a just percentage, not that I have any close contact with any of them but fair's fair. As for the rest, there's the charities which have seen me  and my pets through some hard times.

It really shouldn't be as difficult as all that to make a final decision, should it? I think that I am using this post to gain clarity in my own mind; also to get some things off my chest that have been bothering me for ages. It is six years since Beloved up and died on me, the rotter. I hate that I am entirely on my own and have no one to consult; the thought of a long dark lonesome winter frightens me. I have an acquaintance, also a German, who lost her husband only at Easter time. She has already booked herself a cruise for this autumn and people tell me she is never at home, always on the trot. After more than fifty years of marriage. It really takes all sorts to make a world and all of us react differently to the vicissitudes of life.

What was it someone said? At the end of life we regret the things we didn't do more than the things we did.  Ah yes, that wise old bird Mark Twain.

Things on my Mind.

When I finally rolled out of bed this morning, a little later than normally because I had no plans at all for today, and filled the kettle for a cup of tea I looked at the smart meter which sits right by the breakfast counter. At first I thought it had gone wrong, perhaps it was broken? But no, everything else looked fine and I had to believe the rather alarming figure the meter showed. By midday, the total consumption for the day so far, without using any electricity except that first cup of tea and things like fridge and freezer, clocks and other stand-byes, had reached the charge that even last week would be my total cost for an ordinary day without laundry, vacuum cleaning or other heavy uses of electricity. Twice the cost already and in October energy prices are increasing by another 80%! And again in January. There are people in this country whose income is less than the cost of their energy. How are they going to manage? It's utterly frightening. And winter's just around the corner.

At the same time there are "preppers", millionaires and billionaires, I read this morning, who are discussing among themselves and with consultants, how best to organise life in underground bunkers come the inevitable collapse of society, for whatever reason. Climate change, mass migration, nuclear winter, a plague worse than Covid, you name it, they are preparing for it. Or so they think. Several of them have already retained small armies to defend their underground fortresses. When it's all over and they crawl back into whatever light of day there still is, do they think that their money will see them through? Money will be worthless in a post-apocalyptic world and they themselves will be surplus to requirements. Strikes me that only skilled people will survive, bakers, gardeners, engineers, etc. and any Navy Seal who knows the whereabouts of the preppers' food and water stores will make damn sure they will get their share of it, by whatever means.

For those of you who say 'don't believe everything you read' this very long and reputable article named names, quoted sources and was signed off by a 'consultant' who had been hired to advise the tech titans.

Some of you have asked "is the shroud + scaffolding gone?" No it isn't, and not likely to for some time, the very least until the end of October. As if I weren't miserable enough yet. I have cut small holes and gaps into the shroud, but I will soon be cutting larger windows. I have asked my solicitor to explore if I can have compensation. If only it weren't so expensive to involve legal experts like solicitors and judges.

On a lighter note: I watched the 1940 film of Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' with Greer Garson, Maureen O'Sullivan and Laurence Olivier on TV at the weekend. (Do those names mean anything to people nowadays other than to such as me at my advanced age?) I have seen many newer versions on the BBC, some very recent, and I have to admit that the MGM 1940s version was a bit of a letdown. Large chunks of plot were left out, the women wore clothes from different eras, Regency customs were mercilessly adulterated, and the characters hardly developed from beginning to end of the film. Jane Austen's old dragon Lady Catherine de Burgh was turned into a fond aunt, I ask you. Mr. Darcy did not rise from the lake in his frilly shirt as Colin Firth's Mr. Darcy did in the 1995 version, much the best in my opinion of all the many adaptations. 

And then best news of all: it's finally raining!

We've never had it so good.

All the windows are shut, on both sides of the house. Curtains are drawn, as are blinds. The only door wide open is the kitchen door, mainly to aid the heat from the ever-on Aga to escape. England is sweltering. There are two more days of extreme heat forecast before thunderstorms are predicted. All heat waves in England end in thunderstorms, we desperately need rain. This is all so very un-English; very few houses in the country have AC, up to now you are more likely to need functioning insulation to keep your house sheltered from the winter cold, also normally a moderate affair, Moderate temperatures is what the weather amounts to here, winter and summer, with rain more often than not. Not any longer.

Climate change is here. Many parts of the world suffer far worse than we do. Because I keep the windows wide open during the night and early morning and then march through the rooms sealing everything hermetically, it is bearably cool. I cannot imagine what people in small flats without easy access to greenery have to live with. Just like it was during lockdown, unimaginable. 

The weather has captured the main part of the news. The elderly are warned to stay hydrated, keep out of the sun, work as little as we can get away with, forget about BBQs because of fire danger. There is this panic in the air, as if heat is an enemy threatening our very existence.

As if we didn't have enough to contend with; after Covid - which is still rampant and predicted to be worse during winter - came Ukraine. The Russians are occupying the biggest nuclear power station in Europe which happens to be in Ukraine. Shelling and bombardment put the plant at risk and we are back to the fear of a nuclear holocaust in Europe. 

Want more? How about the energy crisis? Millions of people  in the UK face energy poverty. Eat or heat, that is the question. How do you tell your children that you cannot afford to keep them fed as well as warm? Energy bills have doubled this year and will again from October and then again increase in January. Add to that increased food bills, crops dying in fields and shortages on supermarket shelves, hosepipe bans and water shortages.

But there is always the government to make things better, isn't there? Oops, the Tories are shredding themselves and each other in a farcical fight to 'appoint' a new prime minister, after having finally got rid of the utterly incompetent and endless liar Johnson. So no help there, I'm afraid. 160.000 mostly white, mostly old, mostly middle-class members of the Tory party are about to decide this country's fate.

I have always felt that politics have no place in this blog, although nobody can possibly have got the impression that I am right wing. If I am to continue writing here then politics may come into it now and then.

So, some of you have asked, what happened, why have I gone awol? Thank you for your concern but I needed to withdraw for all sorts of reasons.  I have not been ill, nor more than usually depressed; all the same, I've missed writing. Maybe I'll catch up now.

Blogallimaufrey

A respite from the rain for most of the day, there was even enough sun to bathe the castle in a warm afternoon glow. Millie and I went out twice, morning and afternoon.  We met Robin up on the castle bailey throwing a ball for Horace, the shaggy whippet who looks as if he’s wearing an Afghan coat. Millie was not amused. She likes Robin well enough and makes a fuss of him, but every time Horace raced past her she growled. Old dog ladies are like that, they feel the need to put these whippersnappers in their place. Robin and I just stood there, mesmerised by the unnatural feeling of sun on our necks. Two adults standing on top of a flat, low hill, watching a pair of mad dogs and stretching out their arm to their full extent, grinning like idiots.

Magnus Manske - Wikimedia Commons

Back home I took a closer look at the garden. There are signs of life everywhere, buds and tiny shoots are appearing and the Daphne Odora Aurea-Marginata - the gold-edged fragrant Daphne - is about to burst into life. It was getting too dusky for a photo, so I filched this one from Wikimedia Commons, but mine is exactly the same. I shall take the camera round the garden at the very next opportunity and see what there is.

With all this rain I’ve spent many hours reading. Good stuff and not so good stuff. One book I can recommend whole-heartedly is Barbara Kingsolver’s ‘Flight Behaviour’.  I could barely put it down.  The main character, Dellarobia Turnbow is beautifully observed, and her development from drudge to a woman with renewed hope is described with sympathy and understanding. Even her rather dreadful family on the rundown farm in the Appalachians is ultimately accorded compassion. But the main theme of the book is climate change. If there is anyone who still doesn’t get it - and I know, there are many - you might do worse than read this novel. But if this should prove too arduous a task, look at the myriad of blogposts from all corners of our planet telling us about the weird weather patterns we are all experiencing.

Flight Behaviour was published in 2012 and is Kingsolver’s seventh novel; it is a New York Times Bestseller, and was declared "Best book of the year" by the Washington Post and USA Today.

Finally, a bit of advice. Yesterday was Saint Apollonia’s day.This aged Christian matron having had her teeth pulled out before her martyrdom, is invoked against toothache. If she can’t help, “take a nail and make the gum bleed with it, then drive it into an oak." The very stout William Neal, who was mad with toothache and ready to shoot himself, was thereby cured.

So says John Aubrey in his Miscellanies of 1695. At least he doesn’t advise us to drive the nail into the gum.