Making The Transition

As we drove north the skies grew cloudier- just as they're supposed to do.

We were listening in the car to Ewen MacColl and Peggy Seeger singing their home-made protest songs of the Ban The Bomb era- none of which  have aged well. That sort of thing is best left to the Americans, I think. However- among the clinker- there's Shoals of Herring- which is a damn fine piece of trad folk and The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face- which is deathless.

There were election leaflets behind the door- all mixed up with the flyers for takeaways. The Labour Party has posted six and the Liberals, Greens, BNP and UKIP have posted one apiece, The Tories haven't bothered: sensible of them.

This is a cold house in winter, but delightfully cool in summer.

There were kids playing in the street last night. One poor lad had been deprived of his jacket- and his loving friends and relations were trying to lodge it on top of our hedge. That's something you don't get at my mother's.

UKIP Moment

I had finished cutting the hedge and was struggling to get my gear back in off the street when a passing random bloke in a baseball cap paused to open the gate for me. I think- from his appearance and his not seeming to have any English- that he was one of those Romanians Nigel Farage is so angry about.