Table for one, please

Today is a hazy Sunday, and I find that I am more than indolent.

Melancholy would be most appropriate were I to be in a telling mood.

 I am not, however, in a telling mood.

Thus is the quandary.

Do I fritter forward in this most unsuitable of moods for a blog posting,

or do I darken the room and close quietly the door behind me?

Thinking.

Does misery really love company? No. It does not. No matter what they tell you, commiseration is a dish best served on a table for one. Of course, I’ll need my book, which happens to be, at the moment, Beverley Nichols’ Merry Hall. It is the most rapturous discursion on plants, gardening and finding just the right house for it all that I‘ve had the joy of reading in a very long time.

“From the opening paragraph, which introduces the author’s grandfather who “died of a clump of Iris stylosa,” it is evident that Merry Hall is no ordinary gardening book. And though there are flowers, and stories of flowers, on all its pages, it has the excitement of a novel, telling as it does the story of the rescue of a deserted garden and its transformation, after many struggles, into a little paradise.” *

Of course if you are not a gardener, then I’m certain you will think me and Merry Hall a bit skewed.

 But no matter.

Wait....

Did you just make a snooty eye?

Sipping cold sun tea, and ‘words’ have an invigorating influence…. I knew all I needed was a good book, some alone time and a table for one to shift my disposition.

Happy Sunday

* from the book jacket of the first edition 1951