UK – Page 85 – don't confuse the narrator

summer time

Today we are back on British Summer Time, so it would make sense if the blog post were about summer or clocks.

Yesterday, the weather was glorious and there were plenty of summer-like flowers to be photographed. For some reason, though, although there were plenty around, I failed to take a picture of a dandelion (either in bloom or as a clock). I did find these water buttercups**, though:

spring poetry

This week I seem to have missed both the first day of spring and World Poetry Day. I suppose that is as good an excuse as any to post a poem started back in February. It was inspired by a walk in what is said to be a fragment of the old Forest of Arden, a few miles up the road from the scene in the picture.

The poem still isn’t where I want it to be, but I think at least some of it is salvageable.
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little red books

I’ve said before that this is not a political blog, but today I was saddened to hear of the death of Tony Benn, one of the great politicians of my youth. Ed Miliband has apparently paid homage, saying:

[Tony Benn] will be remembered as a champion of the powerless, a great parliamentarian and a conviction politician.

I’m not sure what a conviction politician is, but I suspect the world might be a better place if a few more politicians were convicted.

In 1990, I was given four of Benn’s Diaries, all autographed in red pen.

I admit I haven’t read them, although the earlier – and shorter – Arguments for Socialism does look well-thumbed. I have, however, been happy to know they are there on the shelf.

I’ve just checked to see that the damp hasn’t got to them (it hasn’t), and find them suitably placed alongside Prince Peter Kropotkin, Engels and E.P. Thompson. (All of them little read books.)

If I believed in such things, I would probably be hoping that Mr Benn might find himself in such company tonight.

multitasking

I seem to have as many things on my “to do” list as the neighbour’s azalea has flowers at the moment. Sadly, none of my projects are likely to be so attractive when completed.

clichés and home-comings

I’m currently taking a poetry class where many of the students are from overseas. They know England from their reading – many have studied English Literature – but this is their first personal experience.

Knowing the country and its culture as well as they do, it must feel like a sort of home-coming. It certainly provokes such delightful situations as when one asked about the flowers on the secretary’s desk: “Are those daffodils? Like Wordsworth’s daffodils?”
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