When it's too late ...

The sun re-emerged after a day of gloom, distant thunder, some briefly heavy rain - emerged just too late for us to do anything but admire its last faint friendliness (Philip Larkin) on the philadelphus outside our window as we ate dinner. In fact, I did go out for a moment or two - the scent of the mild air mingled the philadelphus slightly-reminiscent-of-bubblegum scent with that of the rosa rugosa and it was all rather gorgeous, in a midge-ridden sort of way. 

Interesting that Boris Johnson thinks he can 'swat the SNP like midges' - I wonder if he's ever tried that particularly futile manoeuvre? I realised today that our retreat, devoid of TV or newspapers and limited in our use of social media (deliberate, this - we were perfectly well equipped to drown ourselves in news), was actually a great relief. The current political mess is such as to render me tight-jawed and furious or hysterical with disbelieving mirth, to the exclusion of anything else. That interview on the BBC tonight ...

Enough for now. Blame a lack of a proper walk for this irritation ... I'm off to bed.