Michaelmas reflection

We have passed the equinox; now the hours of night are gradually longer than the hours of daylight. This has always been a time for feasting and celebrating, combined with the most intensive work of the agricultural year, culminating in harvest. Rural Britain used Michaelmas as a time for harvest suppers and feasts, which most churches still observe; for the hiring of servants and the paying of rents, which few still do, and for the celebration of the dedication of churches and chapels. This last was one of the statutes of the English Reformation, passed by King Henry VIII, who wanted to prevent people celebrating on saints days throughout the year, and instead insisted that they should all observe the first Sunday of October as the feast of dedication.

Of all the laws passed during that period, this one was almost universally ignored, which gives great cause for hope, as we still live in a time when both church and state seem to feel the need to legislate their way towards desired outcomes, to form society through telling people what to do, or what to believe. Knowing when to turn a blind eye to such attempts at regulation is a necessary skill in these times.

Here Michaelmas (celebrated according to the equinox, not the Church festival on the 29th) was warm and sunny, and our fair was a good hearted occasion, with music, dancing, lots of food and beer. The main street was closed for two days. Many re-emerged on Monday slightly the worse for wear, and enquiring of their neighbours as to whether or not they had had a good time.

Revolutionary Road

Finally saw this great film by Sam Mendes tonight. Not one of his funny ones. The claustrophobia of suburbia. All the principal players are good, with a surprisingly (should I be surprised?) good performance from Leonardo di Caprio. Not a comfortable watch, but very worthwhile. Beautiful soundtrack. As is often the case, the crazy guy sees what's really going on. Sad, sad, sad.

Sax Appeal

Re-arrangments on the second hand musical instrument front, as a saxophone turned up. Second son now has the clarinet, which he was wanting to try, having done recorder and flute as a child. And I have a saxophone! It's fantastic! I love the action of blowing it! I can play five notes, and if I get them in the right order, I can play (a phrase from) the New World Symphony! How amazing is that! Clever Mrs Demon and her wheeling dealing!

How was your day?

How was your day? Mine was pretty good. Yes, you did read that correctly. Pretty good. Warm, still, sunny weather at last. I love September. Mrs Demon went off to see all her chums at the big car boot sale, and came back with a second-hand clarinet. For me. Isn't that sweet? I really want to get a note out of a saxophone, but a clarinet is as good. And I spoke to my neice, Gorgeous, on the phone. Gorgeous has packed her job in, rented the flat and is off to Vietnam for a year with her boyfriend. And good for her, I think it's brilliant. So a slight adjustment is needed to the Exit Strategy, and post-Exit strategy. It must now include:

a. Learn the clarinet
b. Visit Vietnam

Out! Out damned Spot! 2

And Jilly Cooper said that surnames were cool names for dogs, and I thought, well, yes, possibly, and then I went to the pub at lunchtime, and met a dog called Johnson! He was named after Martin Johnson, the rugby player. That's good. The SMD had a field day, by the way; the huge black Labrador, who she is madly in love with, was there, plus three bassett hounds and a collie-cross.

And what about town names? Also cool for dogs apparently. Barnsley. Harborough. Droylsden. Try them out. It could be a winner. Trust me.

Out! Out damn Spot!

It might have been the name of Lady Macbeth's dog but Spot doesn't make the Petplan top ten dog's names this year, or any recent year, come to that. Shame. The SMD doesn't feature either, but she seems to be coping. Whatever became of Rex? What happened to Patch and Fido? They're all middle class children's names now. Daisy and Molly and Holly. I like Jilly Cooper's suggestions. A dog called Decorum, and another called Discretion, so that we could be exercising Discretion. Geddit? Good one.

Dogs can't climb trees

I'm aware that you have not been kept up to date with progress with the SMD. She is nine months old now, and still looks like a 12 week Labrador, which produces lots of squeals of delight when we meet people. She enjoys tearing about at high speed; rushing through undergrowth; jumping; and throwing herself headlong into water. She enjoys the boat, and the Magic Bus, and is a very relaxed traveller and good companion.

We were up the woods this monring, and she was about her usual business of trying to catch rabbits and birds. One bird flew out in front of her, and up a tree. The only way you're going to catch that, I said, is by climbing the tree. Undaunted she threw herself up the trunk of this beech tree. It was only when she was about six feet up the tree, and our eyes grew level, that she realised that she was a dog, and therefore can't climb trees. She came down even quicker than she went up.

Lovely funeral, father!

Went to a lovely funeral. Ninety-nine and a half. Sherry-loving spinster, Walsingham dame, racing tipster, scourge of trendy clergy bringing innovations. I once had the temerity to re-arrange the lady chapel with a westward facing altar and the chairs in a circle instead of rows. "I want to come to mass, not a seance!" was the response. Lovely lady, but terrifying. We had an arrangment. If she didn't like something she'd call me over; "A word father...". I'd listen attentively and say "I'll give it serious consideration..." She and I knew that nothing would be done. We got on well, I think.