What Else Is There To Write About?

There doesn’t seem much else to write about other than The Wedding.  What with the weather and the friendly crowds and everyone exuding good cheer and happiness, it was a brilliant day, wasn’t it?  I watched it on the telly with enough family around to make it feel a bit like a party and the nice thing about watching it in the comfort of one’s own home, is that a) you can put the kettle on as and when b) you can make all the comments that you want to make in church but are constrained by the social decencies from voicing.  Like, isn’t Kate’s dress gorgeous and thank God it’s not a meringue crossed with a circus tent and isn’t she beautiful?  And will her poor father ever get the circulation back in his hand? (Never did a bride grip her Dad’s hand more tightly).  And didn’t the trees in the church look good?  And what on Earth were Eugenie and Beatrice wearing on their heads? And isn’t William handsome? And, come to that, Harry isn’t half bad either.  And aren’t the titchy bridesmaids wonderful, especially the little one, firmly shepherded by the lovely Phillipa Middleton, who kept one hand on her head with an iron grip on her wreath?



London in party mood is a great place.  I was there for the Jubilee and the whole city becomes one happy place where complete strangers talk, don’t push, make friends and are simply glad to be there.  It’s great to stand on Westminster Bridge with no traffic, to have people from all over Britain and all over the world chilling out and being nice, picnicking on the grass and – on occasion – bursting into song.  I don’t know why it’s so great to stand by the Victoria Memorial with thousands of other people, singing their hearts out, but it is.  And there’s another Jubilee next year…

Take the Pascal Moon away from the first moon you thought of…

Hasn’t the weather been wonderful?  I’m only hoping it lasts until Easter Sunday, as we’ve got eight for lunch plus a few more relatives in the afternoon. As Easter is very much a Movable Feast, I hope we can get out in the garden!

Easter is, of course, the season of new life.  The name is the last remnant of the worship of the Anglo-Saxon goddess of the Spring, Estre or Oestre.  As to when Easter should be celebrated (here comes the movable feast bit) we celebrate it on the first Sunday following the first full moon after the spring equinox, where the day and night are of equal length, causing, if you believe the archeological programmes on the telly, a lot of people long ago to build stone circles and chant a lot.

Now, I must admit, should anyone think I've got this sort of information at my fingertips, I looked it up, but this is where it gets confusing.

The spring equinox – pay attention at the back there! - is fixed for this purpose as March 21 and the "full moon" is actually the paschal moon, which is based on 84-year "paschal cycles" established in the sixth century, would you believe. It rarely corresponds to the astronomical or actual full moon.  Just to make life even more interesting, the Eastern churches, such as the Greek and Russian orthodox, count it up the same way, but use the Julian calendar (on which March 21 is April 3) and a 19-year paschal cycle.

I think I’ll just check the calendar same as usual and celebrate at the same time as everyone else.

The new life bit is absolutely unmissable though. The garden’s gone mental.  Only a few weeks ago, there were bare patches on the so-called lawn and now it looks (from a distance) green.  All over. Mostly.

Mind you, I did help it along. To the intense amusement of my Other Half, I bough a pair of rigid plastic sandals with huge spikes sticking out the bottom and walked around the grass, aerating the lawn.  Apparently grass-roots like a bit of fresh air, which makes you wonder why it grows underground.

I mean, if  the roots likes air that much, why not stick them above ground to take a breather now and again, rather than waiting for someone with huge spikes sticking out of the soles of their feet to come and give it a dose of the much needed?  It seems like a rum state of affairs to me and one that might have given Darwin a bit of pause for thought.  It’s hardly survival of the fittest, is it?  Although, by the time two dogs and various humans have romped over it, it’s more a case of the survival of the flattest.

Happy Easter everyone!  I hope you get lots of eggs.

Simple machines

It was my birthday yesterday (21 again!) and my lovely Other Half bought me a new sewing machine.

New to me, that is, as it’s actually one of the last made by the Glasgow factory in 1934.  The thing is, it’s so wonderfully simple.  Lucy loves it because it looks like something out of Sylvanian Families (you know, those cute toy dressed rabbits and squirrels and so on that come with little houses and lots of stuff for children to collect) but it’s actually a very solid, beautifully made machine that works.

I’ve had an electric sewing machine before and the principle is more or less the same as a hand operated machine, but the damn thing goes so fast that when you make a bish of things (and as a very plain sewer, that’s what I tend to do) it very soon becomes an inextricable mix of knots and problems.  This goes at my pace (slow) but it works.

Understandable mechanical stuff is one of life’s more simple pleasures. Don’t get me wrong, electronic stuff is great – I’m typing this on a computer, I’ll watch a DVD on the TV later today and I love my ipod but you can’t see how those things work, can you?  You can’t lift the lid and see cogs connected to wheels powered by springs or whatever. Being able to see how things work puts us in control in a way that pushing a button simply can’t.  I think that’s why understandable machines, such as steam engines, old aeroplanes, vintage cars and stonking great big engines in old cotton mills or historic ships generate such great affection.

Oh, and I’ve made a tea towel!