Is it me , or is life really getting more difficult

MY husband’s car is silver. Allegedly.
In fact, the people who draw up those Dulux paint charts would probably describe it more accurately as silver with a hint of brown – a large hint of brown, due to the mud it seems to amass everywhere we go.
Now I don’t object to silver – well you couldn’t really, could you? What’s not to like? Its inoffensiveness may be what makes it so popular. It’s certainly the predominant colour on the roads these days, but that does present a problem.
When I drove to the flea market at Shepton Mallet a couple of weeks ago the whole car park - and there were thousands of cars on that featureless field - was basically a sea of silver.
And trying to find one silver Skoda among row after row of same-coloured vehicles is not easy.
Now I know what some people will say, as if stating the bleeding obvious: Why don’t you locate a landmark? Well, the fact that we were by a bend in the track wasn’t entirely satisfactory because that still left dozens of silver cars to work through with a brain reeling from post-shopping-spree syndrome.
You can’t even think to yourself ‘I know, I’m near the third yellow car on the left’ – which is what I did, stupidly – because by the time I came back laden with purchases the yellow car had been driven off.
I think I’m just out of kilter with the world these days. And here’s another example.
I prided myself on how cool I was, spotting the potential of the now massively trendy singer Hozier months ago and booking tickets to go and see him in Shepherd’s Bush. He was absolutely brilliant, too.
We were up in the gods in the cheap seats but they were so uncomfortable – just hard terraced steps really, covered with chewing gum and ominous, unidentifiable stains – that I’ve had backache for days.
(It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that the M3 and M4 were both closed on the way back and we had a marathon drive via Guildford.)
Plus, I couldn’t believe how many people simply sat and stared at their mobile phones the whole time the two support acts were on.
Close by me were two women who spent that couple of hours chattering loudly, or shrieking with laughter, and not paying the slightest bit of attention to the poor people trying to entertain them.
They only shut up when the star turn came on, and then they started waving their arms about in some weird dance that was embarrassing to be near.
I was quite cross with them for their lack of courtesy, but being British, sat and seethed quietly.
And I realised that modern manners ain’t the same as what I think of as good manners.
So I’m not, in fact, as cool and young-for-my-age as I thought. But at least I’m polite.

Amid the winter snow, a foretaste of summer fun for Salisbury

DON’T you love that silence that descends along with snow?
I’m reluctant to step outside my front door right now, not just because it’s cold, but because it seems such a shame to sully that pristine whiteness with footprints.
It’s Tuesday morning, rush hour has come and gone, and cars remain parked in their driveways in our little suburban road. They look like someone has gently laid a blanket over them and tucked them up for the night.
If only someone had told the puppy to stay tucked up, too, I wouldn’t feel quite as dozy as I do.
But she poked me with her cold little nose at 4am to wake me up, wanting to pop outside, only to stand transfixed in the doorway at the transformed scene before her.
Although it was still dark, the cathedral and the fields seemed bathed in an uncanny, almost yellow reflected light.
Then she rushed into the garden to tear round madly in circles just for the joy of it, pushing her nose into the snow and tossing it up into the air.
I didn’t have the heart to be grumpy, standing there yawning in the freezing cold in my dressing gown and bare feet.
She was doing what we should all be doing if we weren’t too busy half the time - looking for the fun in life and making the most of it. Especially when it’s free!
Summer might seem a long way off right now, but there’ll be fun aplenty come the May Bank Holiday weekend, when Salisbury will be getting into the Notting Hill carnival spirit with the first Fisherton Festival.
Reggae and samba bands, street entertainers, stand-up comedy, a Chinese dragon, and stalls manned by traders in national dress celebrating all the cultures that make up city life – it should be a great addition to Salisbury’s social calendar and give all the independent shopkeepers in Fisherton Street a welcome boost.
I’m glad to see that even in these straitened times our councillors and the BID can see the sense in stumping up relatively modest sums to get the project off the ground, and I hope local businesses will follow their lead by offering sponsorship.


My suggestion last week that Salisbury might benefit from having a Sunday flea market seems to have hit the spot.
Several readers emailed me to say they love the idea, and one sent a link with information about a venture that is already proving a huge success not far away, in Frome.
For those of you who are interested, here it is: www.thefromeindependent.org.uk. Here’s hoping this is read by someone with the power to make it happen.