Big Fish

 Ben Pink Dandelion is a Quaker luminary. Big fish, small pond. He picked up his name in his formative anarchistical days when he was part of a group that was doing all it could to undermine the patriarchy. It doesn't sit quite right with me because dandelions aren't pink, are they? It's as if he hasn't really looked at and understood the essential sunny yellowness of his flower. This predisposes me to be critical. 

Handsome fella, wears an earring, but in everything except his outward appearence, pretty hardcore Quaker. Mags wanted to watch a Swarthmore Lecture on YouTube (the Swarthmore lectures are a Quaker institution and have been delivered yearly since 1908- we have bound copies of most of them in the Meeting House library) so we sourced the one that Dandelion delivered in 2014. He talked for an hour, telling us how Quakers ought to be conducting themselves in the world. Ailz rattled around in the kitchen, Mags dozed...

But I was paying attention. And gradually edging away from the virtual man on his virtual podium. I may not have a silly anarchistical name but I'm an anarchist at heart. Tell me how I ought to be identifying with the group and thinking with the group- and I absent myself. I love Quakers, but from the sidelines. Don't ask me to be part of any outfit that's smaller than Humanity.

I liked some of what he said. He had a quote from the poet Harvey Gillman,  "God is not the name of a god". Yes, yes, yes. This is something poets are good for- putting ideas, concepts, impressions in unforgettable form.

Noodling

 It's raining. This is the first day this week we haven't had to go out and do something interesting or have something interesting happen on home turf. I think I'll noodle.

By which I mean just write without any intention of being clever. Maybe pick up some loose threads.

Julia sorted out the garden for us on Tuesday. It took her and her two assistants all day. I had let the weeds flourish. I'd planted shrubs in stupid places. I like having a garden but I'm not a gardener. My idea of gardening is letting Nature do its thing with the least possible interference from myself. 

The builders are still in. When they've finished with the attic room it'll be the nicest room in the house. Also the one with the best view. We're planning to move our computers up there. 

Back end of last week we went to the theatre- something we hadn't done in ages- not since Ailz finished her Shakespeare course with the OU. We saw a silly show based on The Invisible Man. The Invisible Man is a very good story and they'd yukked it up lamentably without entirely smothering the original. There was some stage magic. One of the actors had a CV which highlighted his having "starred" in Crossroads- a famously terrible daytime soap with wobbly sets that got itself put out of its misery a generation ago. I do love actors. I admire how they just soldier on and soldier on- most of them- without ever being sprinkled with star dust. Most will never be famous, most will never even be recognised from show to show- but there they still are, taking what they can get, , slathering on the grease paint, wiping it off again...

Stevenson has a great little story called Providence and the Guitar. It's about the camerarderie between unsuccessful artists....

Eastbourne's Devonshire Park Theatre is Victorian and largely unreconstructed. I'd love to wander about in it when there's nothing doing,  pay attention to the plasterwork, soak up the atmosphere. I wonder if there's a ghost...