Saturday, 8 January 2022
Trifles
Of all the things of which we are uncertain in this world — and there are more every day — we can at least be sure that History has for one of its subjects the ultimate importance of trifles. A coin rolled on a table, a verse by Mr. Pope, a cabbage grown in a stubborn garden, a foggy night in Carlisle, a players’ booth in Penrith, scattered snow reflected like feathers in a lake —
Hugh Walpole - Judith Paris (1931)
Well you never know, instead of a foggy night in Carlisle, a cold day in Bakewell may turn out to be of ultimate importance. It’s a long shot but worth investigating. While we’re there I’ll look out for a trifle. It’s years since I sampled a good trifle.
And yet on a less trifling note, is interesting to dwell on apparently trifling events which had or could have had major impacts. If I hadn’t offered to buy Mrs H a Stella when we first met for example. If Boris Johnson had always kept his hair neat and tidy. If Tony Blair had become a rock star.
Or if the Colston verdict had been guilty - what then? Perhaps we would have retained a certain faith in trial by jury. Almost as if…
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8 comments:
Re the last point, perhaps you could add if only the police would deter malefactors instead of law-abiding citizens
My late Aunt Ivy made wonderful trifles. Just thought you might like to know.
WhenIwasbutalad we had an excellent bakery in town providing cakes to my heart's content: macaroons (in the Scottish sense), flies cemeteries, chocolate eclairs, apple charlottes, ... on and on. So, on a summer Saturday: dooking in the river and run home for High Tea with lots of cakes.
Maybe those trifling little things only work, so to speak, if there are already powerful forces at work. The electorate just wanted to get Brexit done, so Boris wasn't significant. There are now so many woke tossers infecting our culture that the Colston verdict could have gone either way. And such is your easy masculine charm that you could have offered the future Mrs. H. a fluff-covered fruit gum from your pocket, and still swept her off her feet.
Graeme - law-abiding citizens are so much easier though.
dearieme - our local bakery was nowhere near that standard. Cream buns were a dry yellow bun with artificial cream and a blob of red which was supposed to be jam. Even as a youngster I knew they were poor. My mother's ginger biscuits were good though, and her trifles which were well laced with sherry.
Sam - I'm sure you are right, those trifling little things only work if there are already powerful forces at work. In that sense, Boris was selected by political forces as the person who could deliver a workable Brexit. He still seems to represent something, but whatever it is seems to be drowning in woke nonsense.
We now offer 'deconstructed trifles' at our festive feasts. A big bowl of jelly and sponge, separate jugs of custard and cream, little pots of hundreds and thousands. People can then assemble a trifle 'their way'.
My first 'trifle' memory was of a square waxed dish of jelly and tinned fruit in the church hall, celebrating the Queen's Coronation. Perhaps we have become too decadent.
There's a comment made somewhere, that if a butterfly flaps it's wings in South America, a hurricane will start later in Africa, or similar...
And cream doughnuts: how could I forget them?
DJ - that's a good idea - self-assembly trifles.
Scrobs - or if a few Chinese guys die from a bat virus...
dearieme - that reminds me, our local bakery did sell reasonable doughnuts.
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