It's not worth writing down, really, is it, to draw more attention to the attention-seeking. How he damns the heroic Mrs. May's plan as 'deranged' and then proposes building a bridge to Ireland.
They just don't care, these people, and have to say something, anything, to keep themselves in the news.
Too daft to laugh at, my father would say when presented with unsophisticated humour.
Ignore him, just ignore him, I keep thinking. And I must try harder at that one.
--
I've just trawled through the last three years of the 'blog' in search of the first time I went to Wigmore Hall. I'm convinced Carolyn Sampson wasn't my first visit but I can't find anything previous.
But, local though it isn't, it is the venue of choice and I'll make sure I report back when more Maggi Hambling at Marlborough Fine Arts is on the menu for November.
At first one feels a bit awkward looking back through these 'posts'. Did I really need to say that, did anyone care, did it make any difference. Most of the timev it's no, no and no but it accumulates and has accumulated over the years and I might be lost without it. Perhaps I like it ore than I thought and nobody has to visit here if they don't want. And, it has to be said, it looks as if fewer do than used to.
So, up and coming, before Christmas-
Handel In London by Jane Glover
Letters Home by Philip Larkin, ed. James Booth
maybe Paris Echo by Sebastian Faulks
Maggi Hambling's portraits
and, I'm sure, much more along the way.