Hope

Of course William Jefferson Clinton, the 42nd president of America, was born in  a place called Hope in Arkansas. He was well aware of the poetic possibilities of that place name. In 1992 he said, "I still believe in a place called Hope".

Long term visitors to this blog may remember that there's another place called Hope in England. It sits in the centre of The Hope Valley - just five miles from this keyboard. I have often been there and I guess that I have walked every path in that green valley.

Yesterday, I was in Hope once more. I parked Clint near the village's little country station. It is on the line between Sheffield and Manchester. There were nine other cars parked there.

Soon I was heading up the valley side -  on my way to the hamlet of Aston - then up the narrow lane to Edge Farm where I paused upon a convenient memorial bench to look at the view while chomping on the juicy apple I had squeezed into my camera case.

Then more upward motion before turning down to Twitchill Farm. There I spotted a sign on the gate: "DO NOT  STOP IN THE FARMYARD". Of course I was on a public footpath so I made a point of stopping in the farmyard and checking out the three holiday cottages there.

Soon I was back in Hope walking by The River Noe - depleted by the dryness of this disappearing summer. The familiar grey canopy above had been prised open by sunshine and the world was now once again in technicolour. Let's hope that it stays that way for our cottage holiday in Leicestershire - beginning later today.

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Follies

 

Di Botcher

The National Theatre production of Follies is a musical which I needed to see.

My friend John, has banged on about it for years, so recently I watched the live production itself to judge for myself.

Generally I loved it. 

It was overlong for sure, and I could have happily done without the last 20 minutes of it, but the sheer scale and chutzpah of the production blew me away, but not quite as you may expect .

Of course the leads Philip Quast, Janie Dee and the powerhouse Imelda Staunton were fantastic but for me it was performances from three supporting follies that moved me the most 

The fabulous Tracie Bennett

Di Botcher as the bespectacled, big haired Hattie (reminding me so much of my mother) belted out the cracking Broadway Baby with fantastic gusto. Tracie Bennett as the spunky and slightly shop worn Carlotta lived I’m Still Here and the elderly Opera singer Dame Josephine Barstow broke everyone’s hearts as the eldest of the follies during her One More Kiss duet.

These three set pieces made the production for me   

Josephine Barstow 

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Y Shed

 

The new build behind the cottage has been rather noisier than usual. They are digging out the garden with a mechanical digger at the same time as hammering the roof on a kennel block.

I took the dogs to meet Chic Eleanor 

We walked down to y shed ( The Shed) and drank good Italian coffee on the terrace .

It was nice to see her. 

She hugged my arm as we walked and called me her darling John

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Cane pole

 Cane pole

Some worms

A coke

And Lance crackers

A day on the lake. The wind and wake combine to form ecstasy. Late summer sun with a breeze as my portable fan. Just cruising around looking at my favorite homes. Which one do I pick?  It’s almost like I would jump out of the boat, swim and introduce myself to the owners. I could only imagine them sipping sweet tea on that veranda. My only offer is a hearty hey there. When I got home, I’d just shower and collapse into my clean green sheets. My dog would still smell like lake water after he fell in, thinking he had twinkle toes as he made his way around the boat.  He would soon find out to the contrary. I can taste the sunscreen and melted Hershey bars that made a mess of my beautiful and carefree countenance. 

Simple

Summer

In the 

South

Leaves

Me wanting 

More

As Autumn

Waits to make

Her Grand Entrance

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Nonsense

"Believe in yourself and follow your dreams!"..."You can be anything you want to be!"... These are expressions that always rankle with me. They are usually doled out by apparently "successful" people who by talent or good fortune happen to be walking in the limelight and seem to imagine that we can all go there if only we believe in ourselves. It is, in my view, utter nonsense.

"You can be what you want to be..." Okay then, what about someone with Down's Syndrome. Could he or she get to be  an astrophysicist? Could a person without legs get to be an Olympic long jumper?  And if everybody desperately wanted to be the prime minister of this fair kingdom how would that happen when at any time there can only be one vacancy?

If everybody got to be what they wanted to be, the world would be filled with pop singers, professional footballers, novelists, ballet dancers and film stars. We would all be living in mansions with swimming pools and remote control gateways through which we would swish by in Italian sportscars.

Who would sweep the streets? Who would pick the vegetables? Who would dig the drainage trenches? Who would clean aircraft cabins in the middle of the night? Who would nurse poorly patients in hospitals? Who would drive the buses and the trains and who would cut the grass? Who would service conveyor belts in factories or fix broken streetlights or bake bread or paint railings? Utter nonsense.

As I have been writing this, two women have appeared across the street in an old silver car. They have climbed out and got their stuff from the back - buckets and mops etcetera. They have come to clean Number 175 as they do every week. Do you think that this is what they wanted to be - domestic cleaners? But it's a job that needs doing. Somebody's got to do it and they are nobly earning cash to support their families instead of following their dreams. It's the same with the pair of helpers who every day visit housebound Eileen at Number 184. Being what they want to be? No way - but still fulfilling an important role in our society.

If you truly believe that we can all be what we want to be, please keep that trite opinion to yourself while the rest of us just get on with living, accepting the cards that have been dealt to us, trying to be happy.

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