It’s been a big week in British politics: after an interminable and pointless waste of nearly two months, a small group of ageing weirdos chose a new prime minister. It’s a strange way to run a country. And by strange, I mean bad. Bad in concept, and bad in outcome.
And then Elizabeth Windsor died. Two days after meeting Liz Truss. That would sap anyone’s will to live. It was obvious around mid-morning that she was, if not actually dead, not really alive. I was busy working on a project and missed the official announcement until L— came home and told me the unsurprising news.
I asked a Polish friend at the weekend, what do you make of all this? She said that at work all the British people didn’t care, and all the people from other countries were upset. Sounds about right.
I wonder how the new guy will get on. Not as well, perhaps. No one under the age of about 75 will even have any memory of there not being a Queen, but suddenly having to say “the King” highlights the absurdity of it all.
I feel sorry for everyone having medical appointments cancelled by the surprise bank holiday for the state funeral.
We had a survey to get solar panels and a battery. I don’t think we’ll fit nearly as many panels on there as were originally suggested, so we’ll have to wait until they respond with a quote to see what the cost-benefit ratio is.
However, we did get to see the Master Shipwright’s House on Sunday. I knew it was there, but I had never been behind the high walls before, and I didn’t know that they put on theatre and concerts. Now I do!
I reached the end of the Duolingo Arabic course, completing every unit to Legendary level. Can I speak Arabic? Not even close. It’s quite a short and light introductory course, really. I can, however, read the script now, which is a weird feeling when it was opaque squiggles to me a few months ago.