My resolution to leave the house slightly tidier and more sorted every night than it was the night before has started to slide. Maybe tomorrow… However, today I finally joined a local book-group. Actually, that’s not quite true, today I chatted with a woman who runs a local book group about going to their September meeting. If I’m reading fiction again, it might as well involve a night out.
Timmy (the cat who’s incarcerated in my kitchen) seems fine. He’s currently sitting on the mousemat cleaning himself and occasionally purring. Tiger on the other hand (whose house this is) brought me a blackbird in overnight, and was sick on the bedroom floor today. I’ve decided to be cosy-friendly with each of them whenever I can, and to take turn and turn about during the evening.
So much, so mundane. I am clearing through a backlog of emails, and that feels good, and I’ve made another reseller sale on amazon.co.uk. Why does disposing of gifts feel bad?
I cannot pretend that any of this is interesting, so here’s a photo of some poppies. The sight of fields of wheat with corn-poppies in them is now so rare that we’ll stop at the side of a busy main road to photograph them.
We don’t realise how much variety we have lost to herbicides and other intensive farming techniques because this style of farming kicked in just before colour photography became commonplace and by now before most of us can remember. It’s not even that – as Joni Mitchell said – “we don’t know what we’ve got till it’s gone”. We’re beyond that, now “we don’t know what we had ‘cos it’s gone”. Mind you, we no longer have riots over “corn laws” in the UK and given the choice between urban starvation alongside pretty rural fieldscapes and cheap bread from mono-cultural wheat it really does have to be cheap bread.