Atavistic

I think I've made it plain that I'm not a monarchist but watching footage of Prince Charles striding round the flooded Levels with his stout walking stick,  offering sympathy and good humour to the victims and muttering angrily about the failings of those in power, putting Ministers (who have stayed in London) to shame simply by being there, I felt a wave of emotion that caught my inner censor off guard.   "If you're going to have kings and princes," I thought to myself. "Then this is what they're for." The Telegraph (which has just this moment come through the door) has a full length, full frontal portrait of him splashing through the water and looking as much like Henry V at Agincourt as anyone not wearing a suit of armour possibly can. 

Managing The Situation

We have an agency carer coming in regularly now- five mornings a week with someone else- usually the boss- covering for her days off. She's called Kirstie. We like her. She was born in Glasgow but raised in Kent and the one accent laid over the other has given her what sounds like a West Country burr. My mother was telling her about her racehorse this morning- only she couldn't remember its name.

Che has fixed the chimney, but one thing leads to another and there turn out to be at least three more leaks that need patching.  I discovered one of them myself yesterday (see earlier post). Another is caused by one of the ridge tiles turning to powder. "What you really need", says Che, "is a new roof. But that's silly money."