Sounds Of A Sunday Morning

A mild, damp, misty morning. The air is in motion but ever so gently. The horses and donkeys mooch around making a crunching noise which is part chewing, part hooves meeting leaf mould. There's a constant pitter-patter coming from my right where the trees stand so close that they're almost a wood- which I decide must be the sound of leaves being shed- not blown away but simply let go of because it's that time of year.

Ailz comes downstairs singing, "I'm Nobody's Child".

Political Points

When I'm reading my old posts (which I sometimes do because I'm vain) I usually skip the political ones- because nothing goes off as quickly as a satire on a politician once he's been removed from office.

Periods of political upheaval are frequently capped by the restoration of the ancien regime- generally accompanied by the ringing of church bells and the throwing of flowers. Thus England's experiment with republicanism was followed by the return of the Stuarts and France's Napoleonic era by the return of the Bourbons. After a period of excitement we yearn for the familiar. Better a King Log who just lies there than a King Stork who eats his subjects- though after a few years of King Log we forget how much we suffered under his predecessor and start complaining about how boring he is. Donald Trump isn't exactly King Stork and Joe Biden isn't entirely King Log- but you get my drift....