Berlioz and Boris

Just to say that I’ll be on my hols shortly – in SE France, to visit La Cote Saint-André (birthplace of my favourite composer), and one or two other places. Grenoble has a Musée de la Revolution, which Kajsa is keen to see. And I’m sure they must have some old poets, novelists, artists and philosophers buried around there. Everywhere else in France has. (Any advice?) We may also imbibe some vin. Gosh I love France, with all its faults. I’m sure that many English people, like me, wish they were French. But we don’t dare admit it.

I probably won’t be blogging much, therefore, over the next few weeks. In my mind I’m working on a piece on Boris and History for when I return. I’ve bought his Churchill, and written to the Head of History at Eton. With all the damaging revelations about Johnson coming out just now – most of them well-known already – he wouldn’t stand a chance in any other historical era; but the old Tory blimps and blimpesses who will be choosing our next prime minister don’t seem to care. ‘What a card!’, ‘boys will be boys’, and so on. Imagine an Etonian Trump, if you can. Apparently they’re mutual admirers. Not for the first time in recent years the word ‘farce’ seems to fit our British politics exactly.

In the meantime, and to take our minds off it, here’s Berlioz at his most soothing, sung by the inestimable Anne-Sophie, now a compatriot of mine:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmUtwR7W9DM. I’ll be humming it all the way down.

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