Weather Lore And The Wisdom Of William Shatner

"A wet May means a dry summer," says Ailz. I've no idea if this snippet of weather lore is actually true but it's a nice thing to be thinking in a May that is turning out to be very wet indeed.

Hadley Freeman has an interview with William Shatner in this morning's Guardian- which makes him sound like a wise old bird- also mischievous and mercurial. There used to be a suspicion that he took himself rather too seriously but perhaps that was just an act because he doesn't now. She asks him what he wishes he'd known at 20 that he knows at 90- and he says,

“Here’s an interesting answer!... I’m glad I didn’t know because what you know at 90 is: take it easy, nothing matters in the end, what goes up must come down. If I’d known that at 20, I wouldn’t have done anything!”

Harold At War

I continue trudging through the Nicolson diaries. Contrary to expectation the war years turn out to be rather dull. Harold may have been at the heart of things- in parliament and at the BBC- but he wasn't very much better informed about events than the man in the street. He see-saws between elation and despondency and eats lots of meals with political and military luminaries whose names no longer ring a bell. He doesn't like de Gaulle but continues to admire Churchill- whom he admits to seeing as "the God of War".

The record generally livens up whenever Churchill puts in an appearance. Harold's admiration is never uncritical; he doesn't pretend to be enthused by the occasional underpowered or mis-firing prime ministerial speech and concedes that the great man's critics often have a point. No matter: he is convinced- and never falters in his conviction- that Churchill is the right- perhaps the only- man for the job.

Here is Churchill observed in November 1942, at a dull Downing Street luncheon to which Harold has been invited:

"Winston stops talking to Lady Kitty and gazes round the table with curious eyes. They are glaucous and look dead. When he gazes at people like that, there is no light either of interest or surprise in his eyes. There is a faint expression of surprise, as if he were asking, 'What the hell is this man doing here?' There is a faint faint expression of angered indignation, as if he were saying, 'What damned cheek coming to luncheon here!' There is a mask of boredom and another mask or film of obstinacy, as if he were saying, these people bore me and I shall refuse to be polite.' And with it all, there are films of stubbornness, perhaps even a film of deep inner thought. It is very disconcerting. Then he will suddenly cease thinking of something else, and the film will part and the sun comes out. His eyes then pucker with amusement or flash with anger. At moments they have a tragic look. Yet these moods and phases do not flash across each other; they move slowly and opaquely like newts in a rather dim glass tank."