...and another five things make another post

Posting has been slightly blocked over the last few days, because we were at a funeral on Friday: a sad occasion, but not one for which you need rush to sympathise, the death of an elderly neighbour, a nice man whom we had known, not well but for a long time. Too big a thing not to mention, but a story that isn't really mine to tell. Afterwards, at the pub, talking with neighbours, and someone I know, socially but even more slightly, started out of the blue to tell about his life - which was fascinating, but again, not something I feel entitled to write about here. So, a bit blocked...

Sunday was a happier occasion, lunch with a friend we don't see often enough. His invitation was couched as a request for help: About ten years ago I went a bit wild at the Wine Society, and now I have rather a lot of claret which needs to be drunk now... We were happy to do our bit - and it was true that these were wines which were more than ready for drinking.

Home on the bus, and with no prospect of doing more than watch television that evening, we finally caught up with To Walk Invisible, Sally Wainwright's drama about the Brontës, which was broadcast over Christmas. Lucy Mangan liked it, and so did I, with reservations. Branwell and indeed Mr Brontë were treated as characters, so that we saw the family as a familly, rather than as three brilliant sisters and some inconvenient furniture; the scenery was gorgeous, if rather highly coloured; the visualisation of their childhood shared narrative in which they are the Genii who rule the toy soldiers come to life was wonderful, but its dialogue indistinct. In fact, my main complaint about the production as a whole was that the background music would not stay in the background: Emily walks on the moors to a soundtrack of one of her poems, but its words are drowned by the music; Charlotte moves restlessly about the house to loud piano music, and I seriously wondered, did they have a piano? Is she wondering who's playing? Eventually, durham_rambler located the subtitles, and we got on better thereafter.

I am in the process of renewing my passport, which seems more difficult than it should be. I have acquired the required photographs, in which I don't wear my glasses and don't smile (in fact, the effort of following the instructions in the photobooth and pressing the green button without moving my head from the vertical results in my scowling). I hope I am not recognisable from those photos, but I hope they are acceptable to the Passport Office (yes, I am a little stressed about this). I have filled in the form, which is printed in pale orange on white, and was quite difficult to see. And I know better than to believe the address on the return envelope - it says "Passport Office, Milburngate House" but since Milburngate House is currently being demolished, I shall take it to the new offices on the other side of the river.

According to the Guardian's breakfast supplement, the place to eat breakfast in Kendal is Baba Ganoush. It would have to be pretty good to tempt me away from breakfast of my own making (my own coffee, made the way I like it! my own toast, made from my own bread!) but who knows, I might be in the market for brunch in Kendal, one of these days...