Jackson to the rescue

Isn’t this amazing? The never-before-flowered rhodo, is now so weighed down by double and triple blooms that the branches can’t hold them up.

Only one thing to do about it.

Loveliest flowers I’ve had on the table for a while.

Yes, Sunday dinner with Mick Herron. (Soundtrack by the Eurythmics.) The slow horses are back and, after a slow start, I’m galloping through them. 

The slow start had nothing to do with the book and everything to do with the fact that I’ve been having trouble reading for a while. Failed to finish the last two Bad Girls books (didn’t even open the second one – although, in fairness, it really didn’t appeal). Struggled to read anything at all – even the paper, never mind the pile of unopened New Yorkers or actual books. Every time I contemplated going to bed to read I would instead find something to watch on Netflix or BritBox or Amazon Prime and sit up until 3:30am or often quite a bit later.

Thank heavens for Jackson Lamb. In bed at midnight last night and, yes, I was up until 3:30, but I was up reading. Sincerely hope Herron has lifted the curse. (And, yes, I now picture Gary Oldman’s Jackson delivering the bon mots. No trouble picturing Kristin Scott-Thomas as Lady Di, given that was pretty much how I’d always seen her.)

Here’s a fun story. Back in the 1980s, when the Marquee Club in Wardour Street was the premier live music venue in London, Sunday evenings were set aside for up and comers. The cost of entry was considerably less and my mate Trefor and I used to go quite regularly. It was a bit hit and miss, but occasionally you hit the mother lode. Which is what happened one particular Sunday. There was a band playing with a female lead singer who had the most amazing voice. Just incredible. At the end of their show she announced that they wouldn’t be performing live for a while and they’d just signed a recording contract. The name of the band? The Tourists.

Which, in case you didn’t know, eventually morphed into the Eurythmics.  

So, in addition to galloping with the slow horses through dinner, the soundtrack was also prompting some happy memories of my days in Finchley Road.

A good evening.