Rubbish

“A 2 storey house of mid-c19 appearance. 7 bay front with die; keystones over windows; balustraded enclosed porch.” (Burke’s Guide to Country Houses, Mark Bence-Jones)

Frankly, Wodehouse would have described Rathmore House and its chatelaine and her cats more enticingly. She’s my grandfather’s sister, Ada Alexander. As you can see my great-aunt had style in abundance.

She arrived at Barmeath in my childhood in huge American chauffeur driven cars with tail fins, very well dressed, and a uniformed driver, who would be sent off to the pub for his lunch.

I would like to write much more about her but it would be a digression, although a most agreeable one. She paid for her rubbish to be collected from Rathmore. The man obligingly took it down the drive, turned right and tipped it over her estate wall.

He wouldn’t get away with it today. If rubbish is put in the wrong compartment the bag is opened and usually there is an envelope identifying the culprit. A friend has reluctantly paid a £150 fine.

Meanwhile the blasted box moth is infesting our garden but I think I’ve caught them in time. I didn’t expect an infestation so early in the year after such a cold April. The falcons’ chick is doing well and I will not post a picture of the building site across the tracks because everything is on hold in that department.

I had lunch yesterday with a friend of some 45 years. We agree on many things – except one. He always wants to sell high, buy low. I don’t. I’m in it for the long term and my focus is on choosing funds, not trying to guess the ups and downs of the indices. That’s a job for my fund managers and they switch into bonds and gold when they are nervous.

Finally, I have to mention the hubris of the headlines “a decade of Boris government”. I’ve heard that before – when Mrs May (I cannot remember how to spell her first name) called a snap election. We live in a democracy, we need an opposition and it will come on home.