Elgar Country

On Saturday, in mighty fine weather - are we having an 'Indian' - to Malvern for a walk in the hills. Here I am conscious that the ghost of Edwardian composer Edwin Elgar is possibly peering over my shoulder as we amble up to the Worcestershire Beacon.

Getting carried away, I imagine I can hear strains of Elgar's Nimrod coming out of the clouds. But then an RAF bomber rumbles out into the sunshine! That's not what I had in mind!

Looking north from the Malvern Hills.

Sharklays Bank

After completing an over-the-counter transaction at the local branch of Barclays yesterday, the cashier wrote on a card and passed it to me through the glass. He told me to read it as it might be of interest.

It was a business card with a pre-printed note on it telling me I could borrow up to the following amount from the bank on an unsecured loan. On the dotted line he had written the amount of £10,000.

In the current economic climate of stock market turmoil arising from indiscriminate lending, I am entirel appalled that they choose to resort to this tacky and irresponsible way of touting for business. I would be enraged if they made such an offer say to my son.

I am so ticked off I am going to write to them and complain. I'm still deciding whether or not to tell them shall be taking my business elsewhere!

Sutton Two?

Moundville, Suffolk.

To Sutton Hoo, near Woodbridge, this evening, for a party to mark 20 years of business for local engineers JP Chick & Partners. Before buffet and drinks in the house there was a guided tour of the burial mounds, for which I arrived just in time. And I'm so glad that I did!

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It may look like a load of old hillocks to you, but hidden beneath the surface lie what must be two of the most amazing stories in the history of these islands. I can't decide which is the more fascinating, the story of the buried Anglo-Saxon king, or the story of the lady who unearthed his remains.

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I don't propose to take the time and space to tell either tale here. Those are for you to discover for yourselves. But I do believe that here in East Suffolk we are fortunate to have such rich and ancient history on our very own doorstep. It fairly makes me swell with pride!

Sutton Hoo - Shoulder Clasp (detail)

Cloisonne garnets set in gold.

Made in Rendlesham Suffolk; early seventh century;

the finest jewellery of this period to be found anywhere in Europe.

Wow!

Bankers

So Lehman Brothers have bit the Wall Street dust, and the recession has started to bite. The phrase 'economic outlook' is becoming oxymoronic.

We're told that things haven't been this bad since the 1930's, which is in part media hype. But hey - these are certainly bleak times.

If we don't learn anything else, as a result of this debacle, then let us at least learn to legislate to curb the greed of the banks, building societies and financial institutions, It is their avarice in the form of indiscriminate lending that has got us into this mess.

Then let's not vote again for a government who taxes us to the hilt, and then crows about its economic achievements. These were to some extent inevitable in a rising market anyway.

Let's vote instead for a government who will legislate to achieve genuine prudence in the financial markets, which clearly cannot regulate themselves effectively. That's what I'll be doing next elecion. How about you?

Church

I went to church yesterday, St John's in Norwich. And to coin the words of the popular song it filled me with an enormous sense of wellbeing. And - if you are interested - here's for why.

Firstly it is a superb piece af architecture in which to worship - one of Norwich's finest. St. John's is - it seems to me - a great dissertation in the marriage between geology and spirituality. Built of all that solid stone, formed of millions of fossils that lived so very long before Pontius was the pilate who condemned Christ to his cross, and now supporting a cathedral for his worship. The culmination is the large stone bosses at the apex of the ceiling vaults, which run the full length of the nave. These depict in stunning simplicity scenes from the old and new testaments.

Secondly I find it uplifting to form part of an international congregagation, with indigenous, African, Asian and East European peoples amongst our number, who come together for a common purpose - to worship. There is a sense of satisfaction that I feel in being part of a community that wants to be a force for good, in what is a fast changing and increasingly self-seeking society.

I know about all the contoversy surounding the church, and the more difficult problems of faith, but I don't know where else I could go to have this satisfaction. And so I won't be persuaded otherwise.

I come away reassured that god is in his heaven, and all is well, at least in my world.

Amy Winehouse

Time for a rant.

I am disappointed that the press and media can't be more firm in their collective disapproval of the irresponsible drug fuelled antics of Amy Winehouse. Ok so she's got talent; she can sing. But so could Gary Glitter, but his wrongdoings are roundly condemned by everyone and rightly so.

Admittedly The Winehouse's offences aren't as heinous. but I'm sure there must be many more deserving and responsible singers out there with similar ability, who aspire to the big time, and who would not take the mick with their public as much as la Winelouse.

And now she's rumoured to be buying a house in Suffolk, posssibly not far from Delia Smith. Could there be two more differing neighbours?! Frankly I'd rather pay to see Delia singing than this awful woman.

That's it. I'm done. I'll get down off my soap box now!

Particles Of Change

''We're only particles of change I know, I know, orbiting around the sun. But how can I have that point of view, when I'm always bound and tied to someone.''

So sang Joni Mitchell in the song Hejira. The reference to 'particles of change' brought her song to my mind, given the huge media coverage to the £5 billion Big Bang experiments in Switzerland at the moment.

I am reminded by these vast - and vastly exciting - scientific investigations that our world is composed of endless matter, energy, space and time. I find it entirely humbling to think of the enormity of the universe, and the infinitesmally small part I play in it!

But then I think again - of Shakespeare - and another piece of culture that is close to my heart - the film Withnail and I. Towards the end of the film the character played by Richard E Grant recites to himself the lines from Hamlet about What a Piece of Work is a Man. It goes like this:

''What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?''

I am told that the scientists in Cern are looking for the so called god particle that was the builder of universe and life at the time of the big bang. But - you know - I'm not sure they are going to find it.

I think that life stems from something that is not part of the laws of the physical universe at all. I believe that the spirit - the stuff that makes man and woman such a piece of work - is more abstract than that.

So 'the quintessence of our dust' is probably not accelerating around a 24 kilometer track at close to the speed of light beneath the city of Geneva! But then I am a good catholic boy - so I would think that wouldn't I?"

Keep Buggering On.

As a blogger I beware of Oscar Wilde's statement on a friend: 'He has nothing to say. And he says it'. But what might seem to be of little or no interest to people reading this will definately be of significance to me. It's as if there are two interconnecting worlds. There's my own little world, and there's the collective world of everything else that is out there. My task as a blogger is to impinge something of my world onto the wider universe out there, and to make an impact, albeit ever so small.

With this in mind I have to report that there is absolutely naff all going on around here this week! Life is skinning over like a rice pudding going slowly cold.

It's the fag end of a poor summer, business has died a death (since those greedy banks and building societies landed us all in dire economic straights as a result of their indiscriminate lending), and the phone is quiet. I don't even mind the cold callers so much lately. Any call it seeems is better than no call at all.

But then at a personal level there are some very excellent reasons to be cheerful. Lynne and I have recently become engaged, and we marked the occasion with the happiest of lunch parties for friends and family. Last week I celebrated my 55th birthday very pleasantly. Jack and Lauren are just back from a week's camping - no make that drowning - in Cornwall. It's good to see them back safe and sound. And I'm excited about the speech I'm preparing for the a humourous speech contest at Speakers Club next week.

So it might be small beer and biscuits in the great scheme of things, but hey - in the words of Winston Churchill - 'K.B.O.' That's what I do - K.B.O.

And what does K.B.O. mean? It means Keep Buggering On.

See I saw this play on T.V. a while ago and there he was – well an actor playing him anyway - toiling and striving to win the war, almost single handed at times, and he kept saying to his driver 'KBO!'; 'KBO!'. What he meant was Keep Buggering On. It was his little joke, with his driver.

Autumn

Thoughts don't usually turn to Autumn in the first week of September; I usually try to save that for November if possible!

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But the summer has been poor again, and there is litle sign yet of any late Indian burst of warmth. So I'm left to think that autumn is all but upon us and I am reminded of the Keats poem To Autumn - two extracts as follows.

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''.....and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.''

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''Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies.''

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I think that 'Thee' refers to a personified Autumn. The poem is saying that it's a time of ripeness and plenty, with fruits like apple and hazel nut becoming plump and sweet.

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When the weather is more bracing I will be out walking with Lynne, and I expect our enjoyment of the countryside in its Autumn livery will make the passing of a disappointing summer seem less bothersome.

River Deben, near Waldringfield

Bedroom Farce

To Southwold Summer Theatre's yesterday evening with Max & Lynne to take in their 25th season production of Aykbourne's 'Bedroom Farce'. We enjoyed it very much and had some good laughs, but unfortunately we ineveitably found ourselves comparing it to some other Aykbourne plays that we've seen - which it has to be said were funnier.

It's about three couples of differing ages, and at different stages in their relationships, and the comedy derives from how wildly the partners misunderstand each other. As with all Aykbourne plays, the characters start out on the edge of composure, but events conspire against them, and they gradually degenerate into dysfunctionality, and end up entirely unable to cope.

There were some great-fun moments, as when one actor is asked to do the gentlemanly thing and rest on his elbows; and another complains bitterly that when he is bed with his wife giving it his all; all she can do is think about a new carpet for the hall. Rude humour - somehow it always works for me!

As always the Southwold Rep did an excellent job - well done!

Vegetable Plotting

I'll tell you what else - my veg plot hasn't performed well this year. I did plum tomatoes which must need more sunshine, because they're still green and small and dithering on the vine. The spinach and beetroot are ok, but the lettuce languished, the carrot crashed and chard choked on itself. One sowing of rocket failed to do what it says on the packet. The outdoor cucumbers never much emerged from the soil. Disaster.

A thing on the radio to-day about GM crops which apparently are being accepted almost world-wide, but not yet in the UK. Some eco-warriors here are losing the plot and resorting to criminal activity to make their point.

I want to know - will the GM modified foodtaste better than the easy on the eye but tasteless stuff the supermarkets churn out at present? If not then what's in it for the consumer? I don't supose for one minute the price will come down. So probably then the farmer, the middle man and the retailer will benefit, but the consumer will get nothing from it. Oh I see - it's yet another plot to rip off the British public!

So much for the gespacho - I'll be doing chutney with this lot!

Last.fm

Find myself hooked on last fm lately, and spend way too much time scrolling about the site checking music out. But it makes a great change from my listening to my own music collection.

My atavar for last fm is of my old and now deceased cat Pepper. The pic was taken when he was very old, and on an occasion when he was half asleep.

To put it politely Pepper was an old sod of a cat. He was antisocial and unfriendly, and loved to fight even when he was old and incompetent, not to mention incontinent.

But - you know what - I do miss the old curmudgeon!