Jabbering for the Sake of It.

I’m fresh out of words again. I feel there’s a limit to how much a chap can wax eloquent about the delightful newness of spring and the pleasure to be had from the first of the year’s balmy twilights. Further, I doubt anyone domiciled beyond a mile radius of my house would be interested in the fact that somebody has put the village hall cloak right. And I think I’ve vomited enough bile around the Ukraine crisis to last at least a few days, although there’s plenty more I could say if I thought it would immobilise the Russian tanks.

A little aside, however:

I was reading about Alexander Borodin today, marvelling at his multi-faceted talent in being a leading doctor and chemist whilst also writing some of the world’s loveliest melodies. It led me to wonder how a culture which can produce the likes of Borodin, Mussorgsky, Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky and the rest – not to mention the great literary talent for which Russia is justly famous – could still end up being led by the likes of Stalin and Putin. But to continue...

I wonder whether I should mention the young woman I encountered on my walk today, replete with the prettiest of pony tails and riding a handsome brute of a horse along Church Lane. She told me that my personality, intelligence and sense of humour were so impressive that she wanted to stay close to me, on a strictly platonic basis of course, for as long as I have left. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it because I made it all up. (Although there is such a young woman who seems content to stop and talk to me. I even have a question of an equine nature to put to her if ever our paths cross again. And let’s face it, you’ve got to have a dream – if you don’t have a dream – how you gonna have a dream come true? So it might be worth mentioning that I saw two bats flying in tandem a couple of nights ago. I always worry about how many of them will re-appear after the winter, so maybe it was an omen.)

Over and out.