ALAN BENNETT READS THE WEATHER
(Part 1)

BENNETT: As Thora Hird poured the last drop of Earl Grey from the pot and into my teacup, the afternoon was further lifted by the promise of Battenberg. And as I sat back in quiet contemplation of the epicurean delight of those four individual squares of yellow and pink sponge set as it was in thick and alluring marzipan, I noticed a dinghy come drifting past my sitting room window. Thora remarked how beautiful it was to live so close to the river and indeed it is but I didn’t expect to see the boats at such close quarters from the fourth floor.

End


ALAN BENNETT READS THE WEATHER
(Part 2)

BENNETT: An Eccles cake stood in splendid and glorious isolation upon the silver pyramid cake stand and all was right with the world as I marvelled in silent admiration at the wonders of Mother Nature. Although the sky had been thunderous that morning and the streets were awash with untreated sewage, I couldn’t help but notice the sweet odour of wet foliage that filled the air of my parlour. Nothing could break this precious moment for me, not even the sight and sound of Thora Hird as she audibly vied for my attention, tirelessly treading water in the shallow end.

End


ALAN BENNETT READS THE WEATHER
(Part 3)

BENNETT: Now, at last, refuge had been attained within the sanctuary of the first floor landing as the water continued to flood through every nook and cranny unabated. “Oh rain, rain go away, come again another day”, I cried out in order to dispel the melancholy. And as I espied Thora Hird stuck midway on her Stannah Stairlift, she summed up our desperate plight in one succinct statement. “Ooh, how I hate the sodding rain”. And that, quite simply, was the last of her summer whine.

End