Prompted in part by my loyal reader and in part by this particular day - which at least here in the far north of Norfolk sees the year's earliest sunset, I have searched my desk and found my long discarded quill and returned to scribbling down the thoughts from my sub-conscious.
Chastening to note that another year of my allotted time has slipped past and what have I achieved? Well despite the absence of my scribblings, exhibitions and gallery life - now opening only by appointment - the gallery lives on. The Vine is curiously hard to leave behind, not that I want to. Some say I'm not trying, some - I imagine - may think I am no more, neither of which are true.
Faced with the practicalities of opening safely in a very small, very old building with an extremely cautious public and fully cognisant of the ever-changing rules and regulations, I thought that rather than sit there with the door closed waiting for custom to request entry, to turn the whole thing upside down and let it be known that by requesting a viewing I could tick all the boxes. Safety for both parties, a pleasing sense of personal and exclusive service and somewhat selfishly, spend more time walking, gardening and generally enjoying what I now see as the essence of my later life.
Confounded by the virus and all the stuff that has resulted, Norfolk is still extraordinarily beautiful and pleasing in many ways. I say this in the knowledge that my reader is not equally blessed and that to speak of it rubs salt into the wound.
It ain't perfect. Far from it. Possibly the greatest and I feel irreversible consequences of the last 18 months is that this corner of England is no longer 'secret' or unknown. This summer it joined the modern world. Role reversal, not empty but full, extremely full, of those who historically didn't know we existed or if they did, didn't really care. The attendant pressures, stresses and anger of urban metropolitan life were to be found in every pub, every restaurant and on every byway, path and beach. And not surprising as everybody visiting was paying huge prices for the privilege.
The anger has calmed somewhat with the season but what cannot be reversed is the squeezing out of the last few remnants of proper rural life. Villages no longer have community, they just have population and the idea of doing things for the greater good has by and large gone. We can't blame anybody for this, we're all guilty and with no leadership or statesmanship to be seen, it is self-perpetuating.
One of the few voices of sanity in this wilderness has - of course (with a smile) - a Norfolk connection. A prophet or voice now largely ignored or derided in his own land, the former PM with the peas, John Major, spoke out to remind us all of the standards that should characterise public life and to list the fundamental British values that have been and are being betrayed. We all have different political views but we should not countenance any government that undermines Britain's reputation for keeping its word. We would do well to listen to him.
Not to push further into the morass, the Norfolk countryside is similarly boggy at this stage of the year, but in contrast with moral swamp, its natural beauty remains and accordingly before I lay my pen to rest again I shall dash out to record another significant sunset.
Not the Solstice but at least as good as.
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