Apologies for the error in the previous post. 'Elder son' should read 'lovely elder son'. Or so I'm told.
After Wales came a few days at home to say goodbye to the lassie (ouch) whose work here is finished, then shunted ourselves off to the Cotswolds. Some places are almost too pretty. I can't quite believe that there really are rows of golden stone cotages with thatched roofs and hollyhocks, but I have seen them with my own eyes. (hollyhocks is one of my favourite words, by the way.)
I can recommend the RSC As You Like It, which we saw at Stratford. Sparkling, beautifully staged, funny, energising, and with a set which is both simple and ingenious. Just brilliant, and I came out as happy as a hollyhock in a cottage garden.
Elgar's birthplace and the museum are a good stopping off pace en route to Hereford in torrential rain. Rain is good for hollyhocks. Indirectly I suppose it's good for middle aged authors, too, though it doesn't feel like it when you've got your foot in a puddle.
Do you know the story about Elgar, the dog and the river? I'll save it for the next blog. Happy hollyhocks.
No comments:
Post a Comment