the days of rhubarb crumble

The lilac is at it again, winking at me through a sudden hail shower this afternoon, the black currant bushes are full of promise, the transplanted walnut tree is showing the teeniest bits of life after we had given up all hope, and we moved the figs outside as the weather radar is predicting a warm front by midweek, coming up from Africa.

I have been editing the most gruesome manuscripts, there are dreadful infections out there, twisting and turning the immune response and my heart was aching when I got to the list of side effects of one of the treatment trials. I carefully replaced all "subjects" with "individuals". I have never worked with these authors before and they are fairly young, so I'll push my case.

I had to drop the idea with the choir, rehearsals were great fun, but on most days every time I went away from them in a haze of vertigo and exhaustion. My days of singing and clapping and silly dance steps in a group of jolly women (and one man) are over. It was fun, we did the Timewarp and Blame It On the Boogie. Ah well, that was that.

We decided not to go to the Bob Dylan concert, open air, near us later in July. Not for 95 Euro p.p. standing somewhere way back and beyond. You don't want to know how much they are asking for standing a bit closer, but not much, to the stage and seating costs about as much as a week's holiday in Sicily. We may join the crowds sitting down for a picnic by the river trying to catch the sound from a distance - provided they won't close off most of the area. Obviously, there's costs involved and I am not begrudging anybody a decent profit after covering costs, but why are tickets for the big shots so expensive? Are they all broke like Leonard Cohen? I must be naïve or maybe I am a bit thick. There are people who think I am mad and that I will be missing a life changing event. Yes, there are.