Richard Lutz looks back over the past week – from the meanderings of a bumbling politician to a wandering river.
Porcine Foreign Minister Boris Johnson, the British untermensch Trump decided he’d do a bunk and find a bit of urgent overseas work rather than carry out promises to the folks who voted for him.
He swore on a stack of Daily Mail back copies he would back their fight to stop a new runaway at Heathrow. He would “lie in front of the bulldozers…”
Come the day, no cometh the man. The Commons voted on the huge expansion and Porky said some porkies and said it was absolutely necessary to go to Afghanistan.
He missed the debate and vote. He bunked off for what turned out to be a tacky photo-op delivered on Twitter. He was shown shaking hands, bleary eyed and jet lagged, with the Afghan leader to prove how important his high security work was.
Believe me, it could have been carried out on a FaceTime two way with a box of chocolates sent to Kabul as thanks for allowing him a cowardly get out. He should be sacked. But Theresa May needs his Brexit backing to keep her cabinet from imploding.
On to sweeter things: a walk up the River Stinchar. It winds gently down the Ayrshire hills in Southwest Scotland as it curves to the sea.
Cranesbill, gentle and blue, line the banks. Herons stand stock still looking for lunch. A hawk wanders overhead. Dragonflies patrol. Hornbeam, oak and chestnut (I think) throw shadows on the waters. The Stinchar might be known to some as a prime salmon river. But this little bubbling gem, travelling west under the massy bulk of Knockdollian Hill, is the prettiest quietest part of the whole UK as it heads for the tiny port of Ballantrae.
A footnote: We have watched three Spencer Tracey/Kathryn Hepburn movies as part of a weekly sitdown with elderly relatives, They love them. After back-to-back-to-back viewings, so do I. The trio (Women of the Year, Adam’s Rib and Pat and Mike) are, bottom line, all the same: curmudgeonly man falls for urbane smart woman. Each is good, dialogue sparkling and George Cukor’s direction light, breezy and highly political. These films don’t rust. They still make great entertainment.