Achilles sprouts horns
The last two days of this week I cycled to and from the office for the first time in quite a while – and mood lifted accordingly. Weather helped, as did all the bulbs blooming in the garden at 2 Bloomsbury Place. Then, too, there was the fact that we have more or less finished The Phoenix Economy, which is now with our designer, Rupert Bassett. Fairly intensive week nonetheless, with my annual lecture at Imperial College and a visit with Charmian to Goldman Sachs, but am feeling more in tune with the universe, particularly after a quiet day in the office with Sam, listening to the likes of Dean Martin on her iPod. As Sam noted Lou Reed would say, A Perfect Day.
Last night the car failed to start, indeed even the security light had gone off, until I unlocked it and the alarm went off for some 15 minutes. Because we were on our way to Richmond, we cancelled a call to the RAC and took a cab, driven by a delightful Punjabi nicknamed ‘Lofty’. He began to tell us about sleeping on the roof of his home as a teenager and doing his homework by moonlight. That conversation started because there was a wonderful Moon last night, with Venus dawdling nearby. Then he proceeded to tell us about Slumdog Millionaire, which was interesting, since Gaia had been exerting every sinew recently to get the child actors to the Oscars – a mission duly accomplished.
Today, a truly wonderful RAC man turned up, protested that after 7-8 years we have only put around 17,000 miles on the Volvo’s clock, and ended up changing the battery, yet again. Then, inspired by an email this morning from Geoffrey Chandler about his garden, and particularly the scent of witch hazel, we trolled across to the Isabella Plantation, where most things seemed to be in bud, and the witch hazels were in blossom. Watching a few bumblebees rumbling from blossom to blossom, I began to wish for a life as a cross-pollinator. But then perhaps that is what I do?