Distracted..
from distraction... by distraction.
A nice feature of increasing age is that one is increasingly less distracted by trivia. Somebody (was it Jane Austen) said that a woman's life was one of perpetual interruption. It is assumed that some genetic gift comes with the feminine condition that allows for every problem from acne to washing machine usage to be delivered daily to one's door.
We have a house that is in perpetual need of repair. This is not the spur to galvanized action and vast expenditure. It simply reminds me of the inconvenience of living in a climate where houses are the norm.
I begin to wonder if moving to a tent in a warm climate might not be a good move.
The mass evacuation of Irish people from the island, which happens periodically and with increasingly dull analysis by those left behind is one of the trivial aspects of daily information that form a sort of static sounds, crackling in from a distance.
The warm-up to the presidential election is set to be as nasty as any that have gone before. There are some who find the Establishment at play a form of entertainment. Many have made an industry of the antics involved, with publicity firms happy to keep the show on the road. As in the case of Belgium, which may or may not have a government at the moment (I gave up following the ongoing to-ings and fro-ings there), the question of whether it is worth having groups of people gather to yell at and pour bile over one another does give one pause for thought.
Last week we hied away out into the country to attend a concert at Castletown House. It is a melancholic old pile, Palladian, and with the spirit of a family who wished for better things to come still lingering in the warren like kitchen areas. If you get a chance, there will be more free concerts there in the next few weeks and the acoustic in the main entrance hall, with its sublime plaster ceiling and wall panels is not to be missed.
The arts are thriving here at the moment.
We may as well all sing along...
And as for warmth, this reminds me of a particularly comfortable day spent looking at the vast blue Lake Garda. It would be a joy to be there just now.
A nice feature of increasing age is that one is increasingly less distracted by trivia. Somebody (was it Jane Austen) said that a woman's life was one of perpetual interruption. It is assumed that some genetic gift comes with the feminine condition that allows for every problem from acne to washing machine usage to be delivered daily to one's door.
We have a house that is in perpetual need of repair. This is not the spur to galvanized action and vast expenditure. It simply reminds me of the inconvenience of living in a climate where houses are the norm.
I begin to wonder if moving to a tent in a warm climate might not be a good move.
The mass evacuation of Irish people from the island, which happens periodically and with increasingly dull analysis by those left behind is one of the trivial aspects of daily information that form a sort of static sounds, crackling in from a distance.
The warm-up to the presidential election is set to be as nasty as any that have gone before. There are some who find the Establishment at play a form of entertainment. Many have made an industry of the antics involved, with publicity firms happy to keep the show on the road. As in the case of Belgium, which may or may not have a government at the moment (I gave up following the ongoing to-ings and fro-ings there), the question of whether it is worth having groups of people gather to yell at and pour bile over one another does give one pause for thought.
Last week we hied away out into the country to attend a concert at Castletown House. It is a melancholic old pile, Palladian, and with the spirit of a family who wished for better things to come still lingering in the warren like kitchen areas. If you get a chance, there will be more free concerts there in the next few weeks and the acoustic in the main entrance hall, with its sublime plaster ceiling and wall panels is not to be missed.
The arts are thriving here at the moment.
We may as well all sing along...
And as for warmth, this reminds me of a particularly comfortable day spent looking at the vast blue Lake Garda. It would be a joy to be there just now.
Labels: distraction, Lake Garda
posted by Tales from the Birch Wood. at
11:33
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