April 6th, 2017


We had a lot of broken cloud yesterday and I wasn't wearing a hat and when I came in Ailz remarked on how red my neck was. As it happens- by one of those coincidences that probably aren't- I caught a few minutes of TV later that evening in which a boffin was explaining how the sun's ultra-violet rays bounce off the water droplets suspended in clouds and go shooting off in all directions- like laser beams in a mirror maze- and are really more dangerous to us then than on cloudless days- because they're coming not only straight down but from any and every direction.

Today I'm wearing a hat.

Matthew is here again- carrying on doing what he started on Tuesday. He had a hacked about but mature privet in the back of his truck which he'd just uprooted from someone else's garden and I claimed it to fill an egregious gap in one of our hedges. Poor thing will need a lot of watering if it's to take- especially on sunny days.

He has an assistant with him from the Ivory Coast who understands less English than he'd like us to think he does. Matthew gave him some muttered instructions about planting a bunch of bluebells then left him to it. He picked them up, looked at them sadly, then went off to do something else- so I waited until I was unobserved, fetched a hoe from the shed and planted them myself.

Eggs Of Contention

Someone noticed that the National Trust was organising a egg hunt with Cadbury's the chocolate people and that some of the publicity didn't contain the word "Easter" and pointed this out- and a number of prominent church people (who hate it that no-one listens to them any more) felt or pretended to feel they were being victimised and started shouting their heads off. The Archbishop said the founder of Cadbury's was a Quaker and this was tantamount to spitting on his grave while The Prime Minister- on an arms selling mission to Saudi Arabia- said she was a vicar's daughter and she thought the National Trust was behaving shamefully- or words to that effect. And then, because any aggressive action always sets off another in opposition, all sorts of people piled in. The Pagans said Easter eggs were pagan not Christian and belonged to them and the Quakers pointed out that they don't celebrate any of the big Christian feasts so Mr Cadbury's grave remained unspat on and the secularists rejoiced that a bishop had broken cover and could be run to earth and savaged.

You start a wheel which runs a belt that connects with another wheel and soon the fairground machine is snorting steam and flashing its coloured bulbs and pumping out marching tunes- and its jolly old racket brings media types- like little children- running.

What's it got to do with true religion? Nothing except to demonstrate how not to go about it.