Post 445. A PERIOD OF HUSHED VOICES.

 SO WHISPER IT,

LIZ TRUSS IS THE NEW PM.
Apparently not such a big share of the Conservative Party members' vote as anticipated, but 57% was enough. If you are at all interested in politics there is plenty about her on Wiki. Suffice to say she has held the safe Tory seat of South West Norfolk since 2010 and a handful of government posts (each for a year or two) since 2014. Other than that I know no more about her than I do about the county of Norfolk, which amounts only to the waggish Noel Coward description: 'Very flat.'  But, with the state this country is in at present, good luck to her and all who sail with her.
I don't expect much, so I shan't be disappointed.
NO LAST NIGHT OF THE PROMS.
Cancelled this year following the death of  Queen Elizabeth II. Not, I think, an action of which HM would have approved, but I can understand the organizer's quandary. What do you do in the face of national serfdom displaying 'got to be there' grief? You close everything else down, that's what you do. (Well, half the country seems to have joined The Queue in south-east London anyway.)

In this house earlier today, as I was getting dressed, the bedroom radio relaying  Classic FM, I quietly sang along to Eric Coates' London Suite. I have my own words to most of 'the world's greatest music' and they consist of 'mind your manners, son' in a variety of guises. I find the words fit any tune somewhere along the line and I may have just completed "Can't you, why can't you just mind your manners, son?" to The Knightsbridge March, when Maureen, in bed reading, looked over her glasses to say: "You're mad. I'm going to have you committed." 
"In London," I said portentously, "Thousands of people are standing for twenty four hours or more in the cold and damp to walk past a flag-covered coffin, and you're saying I'm mad?"
Dare I whisper we both laughed?

Back when it's all over