Is ugly but utilitarian better than beautiful but impractical? Not a deeply philosophical question I realise, but I was just contemplating such inconsequencialities as I unloaded our dishwasher. Ages ago, we inherited a truly ugly set of ‘oven to table’ Wedgewood ‘Quince’ crockery from mother in law. (Do please look it up to savour its full ghastliness) My initial instinct was that it would be really useful for bbq’s, when we wouldn’t mind if it got broken, but it would only be used day to day over my dead body. As you will gather, I am still alive and we have been using it everyday for a couple of years now. The trouble is it is so dastardly practical and almost bulletproof. I have learnt to look past its hideousness under the overburdening weight of practicality. My arty sister would never allow such aesthetic philistinery. For her, beauty, chic and élan would always be the governing factor and she may well be right, who’s to say?
So the threatened draconian measures are now to be implemented, with Boris’s latest edict. Basically the Nation of Shopkeepers is to become a Nation of Home Lovers. Social interaction is forbidden for the foreseeable future. I feel rather blessed in that I have a lovely wife and two reasonably fit, healthy and occasionally lovely children. We four, we happy four, we band of brothers, expect not to be shedding blood at Agincourt, but will, no doubt, become somewhat more familiar with the world of the Noble Bard, amongst many other worthy scribes. How many new board games will be devised this Spring and Summer? How many ingenious new Apps will assault our senses as clever people find ever more extreme ways to earn a buck? Already daughter Tiggy has shown a remarkable improvement on the tennis court. It seems that after a traumatic growth spurt her body is catching up with itself, so that once again she is looking a coordinated and agile athlete. Admittedly she is feeling incredibly stiff after her first morning with Jo Wicks doing a “HIT” with which her body is seriously unfamiliar, but with perseverance the effects will be marked. Who knows, she may even be persuaded to practise her trumpet daily (well actually it’s mine but on permanent loan to her in the hope that she may one day challenge Alison Balsam for the right to entertain Royal Albert Hall audiences), although the new braces (teeth, not trouser supports) make it a little uncomfortable. Mrs T is threatening to reacquaint herself with her largely ignored sax, (that’s SAX) which raises the intriguing possibility of a Tutt family jam. Unfortunately son Oliver has yet to discover his musical talent and Tiggy and I can’t play my trumpet at the same time. If the truth be told I can’t play it anyway! Somehow, the communication cable between brain and lips seems to have corroded over time. I could occasionally deliver a passing resemblance to “Wonderful World” but never looked likely to overtake King Louis in the Jazz charts.
The good news is that we have the basis of a very nice garden. For two years I have been slowly stripping out the overgrown jungle that we inherited, applying copious quantities of round-up to exterminate every living thing in sight and generally preparing the ground for the Genesis that is hopefully about to happen. With Mrs T’s green fingered support (now available with School an empty carcass) it’s possible that the grounds of Watt House will once again be fit for garden parties, barbecues and other such revelries…..once, of course, the dreadful “Virus” has been beaten back.
For Harry, England and St George.
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