A funny sort of a day. It’s Day 2 of the new PM, that dastardly figure Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, generally rumoured to be an habitual liar and someone who fails to grasp (or isn’t even interested in) detail, only grand gestures. He tried, and failed, to reinvent himself as a latter day Winston Churchill, about whom he wrote well, but in no way resembles. After over three years of this terrible torture that is ‘Brexit means Brexit’, we’re now entering a new phase of engineered standoff with the EU, designed to force us to part with no deal. If no one is prepared even to talk, then we just crash out. There’ll be riots on the streets, mark our words, and the Lib Dems will come riding to the rescue. In our dreams…
After a record breaking 38.7 degree yesterday, today ‘normal’ southern summer temps of ‘only’ 26 return. There’s even a threat of rain. Stage 19 of the Tour de France is curtailed as snow ploughs try to clear the route ahead of the riders. Thunder and lightning all night. Watch out Boris, the Gods are displeased.
We visit Knole Park and look around the house this time, rather than the park. The portraits in the Brown Gallery look like the cast list from Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall. They’re all there, just in case you were under the impression that this place only had a modest place in history. More recently, and still lived in by the Sackville-Wests, the grip on English history is still unrivalled. No picture of Boris though. (Not yet…ed).
Vita Sackville-West’s claim to fame was as poet, author and garden designer, and as part of the Bloomsbury group where their artistic temperament was more than matched by their amorous entanglements…
They lived in squares, painted in circles and loved in triangles
Tonight, at last, we get to Thackeray’s in Royal Tunbridge Wells. No matter that it recently lost its Michelin Star, it hasn’t dimmed the prices on the menu but you can get a table for 4 on a Friday night with only a couple of day’s notice. Simply excellent food, friendly and welcoming service with our Malbec glasses seemingly refilled as if by magic. Although they desperately want their Star back, it’s just fine as it is. Contrast that with our “local”, the Black Swan at Oldstead, where the success caused mayhem and although great, its local clientele were sometimes elbowed out by people, well, from ADROAD! Still at Thackerays they’re all “from abroad”, aren’t they? Very well worth the wait – a wonderful evening.
Restaurant Thackeray’s [note the ‘ ]