Plum Pie

It was jolly chilly yesterday. Bertie voted for Wimbledon Common for a walk so we sallied forth. I find golf clubs pretty rum. In a proper club there is no Chairman’s chair in the bar but at the Royal Wimbledon there is a parking space for the Ladies’ Captain; perfect ‘tho I hoped she didn’t… Continue reading Plum Pie

Who’s Who

Oh the shame of it. It turns out I have been self-isolating for years, living in social Siberia if you will. Anyone of any consequence has caught the virus but it hasn’t sneaked into No 56 yet. The Prince of Wales has had a royal flush.

Country Life

Plenty of time to catch up on reading. I have just given up on Aldous Huxley’s first novel, Crome Yellow, published in 1921. It seems very dated. I am going to play for safety and re-read Jill the Reckless next – written by PG Wodehouse and also published in 1921.

From the Banks of the Neva

This is the beginning but it’s in Finnish: “rakentaa kuin Iisakin Kirkkoa”. Put it into Google Translate, unless you speak Finnish, and you get: “to build like the Church of Isaac”. A Finn might use this expression referring to the Heathrow expansion plans or the construction of Crossrail and HS2; in fact any project that… Continue reading From the Banks of the Neva

Thank You, Plum

September was a good month for Wodehousians. On the 20th we assembled in Westminster Abbey for Evensong and then, in a state of Grace but not Monaco, the Duke of Kent presented a memorial to PGW to the Dean, who dedicated it.

Two Englishmen Abroad

Alistair Cooke’s radio broadcasts are beautifully modulated, finely crafted, miniature masterpieces. To stumble upon one is to find a Fabergé egg in the henhouse; although Peter Carl Fabergé made only fifty-two Imperial Easter eggs and Alistair Cooke delivered 2,869 editions of Letter from America.

Odd Jobs

It is four years since I was made redundant. I segued into a seven-day, fifty-two weeks a year job. You are reading it now.