Westron Wynde

Westron wynde when wilt thou blow
the small rayne down can rayne
Cryst yf my love were in my armys
and I yn my bed agayne.

"Chef calls the ratatouille Basil..."

Just been to an excellent film which brought back to mind not only my favourite recipe from the book which sustained me when I was a student, but also the best Fawlty Towers episode of all.

Saturday evening in Hyde Park (and a foggy morning in Lewisham)

and

Another gem from Private Eye

Old age

When I learned the piano as a child, I hated playing scales.

As an adult, when I tried to take it up again, I religiously practised scales whileall the time feeling resentful that this was what one should do.

And now I've just gone out and bought a whole book full of scales (and arpeggios and broken chords, but nothing else).

Piled at random

Another fascinating obituary in the Independent: Brian Cummings on English scholar Stephen Medcalf (1936-2007):

"He was a difficult man even for his friends to know well. He was solitary and soulful, often seeming to be lost in thought. Yet he loved company, long walks and pubs, and although it was as impossible to imagine him marrying as him finishing his book on Eliot, he had many women friends and would no doubt have agreed if one of them had proposed to him. His family and friends despaired of his chaotic home life, in his little house below Lewes Castle in which clothes and 16th century books were piled at random."

There's hardly a single detail there that I share with him, yet I feel an affinity.