I’m halfway along the final row of the 11th centre repeat. So, barring disaster (and disasters happen, believe me) tomorrow should produce a picture and the end-of-repeat statistics.
We’ve ordered some more snowdrops – the books say that this is the time of year to plant them, “in the green”, rather than putting them in as wizened bulbs in the autumn. The order turned up this morning. That settles it, then – we’ll be going to Strathardle next week, barring disaster (see above). My husband is unmoved by the plight of my strawberry plants, but keen to get the snowdrops in.
There was an article in a recent New Yorker, the one with Obama morphed into Lincoln – if that’s what it was – on the cover, about some men who take a severely dystopic view of current affairs, meaning that they think civilisation may be about to collapse entirely (a defensible point of view) and that the wise man now retires to a cabin in the woods with a gun and a stockpile of petrol for the generator and of something that can be used as currency (drugs, perhaps) when coin of the realm no longer works. That’s a long sentence.
The article reported a speech by one of these men, Jim Kunstler, in Montpelier, Vermont. “His audience was an assemblage of nearly two hundred neo-Luddites and anarchists and socialists and freegans and steampunks and home-schoolers and folksingers and knitters and yak farmers.”
Unexpected company to find ourselves in.