flat, stale and unprofitable

The nice weather over the weekend was just an interlude, and this morning things were back to grey, cold and raining.  As I set off for work I suddenly realised I'd forgotten that my usual route was closed for five days for Works.  I can't think they're resurfacing the lane, so it must be a utilities company.  By then I was driving the wrong way for the route I'd meant to take, so was slightly late.  Fortunately, from my point of view, the manager arrived at the same time as I did, so my late arrival was camouflaged.  He was suffering from a ferocious migraine, and wasn't sure he'd make it through the day.

The morning was very, very quiet.  Those customers who did come complained that it was not just wet, but cold, and it was.  It really was not weather for making you feel like walking about outside and shopping.  Plus, when the breaks in the weather are just enough to get the grass cut, people may not be ready to plant.  There were two or three good big trolleys late on, but overall it was a disappointing day.  Or at least, not a good day in sales terms, since to describe something as disappointing implies that you had thought it might be better than it was, and I was fairly sure that today was going to be poor.  I gather that yesterday, when the sun shone, it was quite busy, which does at least show that, even with the hosepipe ban, people are still prepared to buy plants, provided they don't have to walk around in the rain and the cold to do so.

Driving home I saw a fox in the public lane, just along from the turning to the farm.  I told the Systems Administrator, who said that was nothing, since this morning there was one outside the kitchen window, standing in the Italian garden.  That's the second fox we've had in three or four days (or the second sighting of the same one).  The big tabby came crashing in through the cat door the other day and took refuge on the sitting room window sill, and when the SA went to see what was wrong with him saw a fox walking through the garden.

And that's it for now.  I didn't make one before the programme, and we have tickets for Spiers and Boden at the Colchester Arts Centre.  It's a sell-out, so we don't want to arrive too late or we'll be stuck behind a pillar.  Never doubt that Cardunculus is not done in real time.  Have a nice evening.

Addendum  Spiers and Boden were excellent, like the fine musicians that they are, and we are going to try and find an alternative venue to see them, the next time they tour.  The Colchester Folk Club did their usual thing, which is that the doors open at quarter to eight, you grab a seat not too long after that to avoid getting a really dud spot, and spend the next half an hour listening to a CD of a band that's playing there in October.  Then you listen to a local musician doing a support act, whose taste in songs you do not share, and then there is another ten minute hiatus while the Arts Centre sound man rearranges the stage.  Finally, after you have been in the building for an hour, you get to hear the band that is the reason why you went.  The Arts Centre seats are hard, and the Systems Administrator can't manage much more than an hour and a half sitting on them before developing acute hip pain, so by the interval the SA is in severe discomfort.  At least in the interval you can stand up, but then you have to sit down again.

In another decade I will probably only go to classical concerts.  Tonight there were three women sitting directly behind me who kept up a constant stream of mutters, comments and giggles throughout.  God knows why they spent fifteen pounds a head on tickets to a live concert they were going to treat as background music, and why some classical music promoters feel it is a good idea to encourage a more informal atmosphere is beyond me.  An audience convention that you don't talk and spoil it for other people is a precious legacy to be guarded, not squandered.  The ghastly trio weren't talking very loudly, but muttering certainly carries forward a row.  They were also among the leaders of the outbreaks of moronic clapping along to the music.  If you at a Spiers and Boden concert you do not need to clap along.  Jon Boden has brought his own percussion, and he is in time with himself.

We left at quarter to eleven, which meant we'd spent three hours in the Arts Centre, of which half was spent listening to the musicians we'd gone to hear, and the other half was spent sitting and standing about.  That's not a good ratio.  Compare and contrast with the Mercury Theatre, where you can arrive a quarter of an hour before the play starts and still have time for a tonic water, and where the seats do not send the SA into spasm.  The talking problem is probably worse for Spiers and Boden than some other bands, given their Bellowhead connection and general trendy funkiness.  I don't think anybody talks in a Martin Simpson concert, because they have too much respect, and because the rest of the audience would lynch them.  In the meantime, we'll get some more Spiers and Boden albums, but I can't see us watching them live again in that venue.