It once used to be that the phrase “all talk, no action” was a class of insult. But not today. There’s little action can be taken in level-five lockdown, and we’ve become a world of talkers. Elbows on the table, phone on speaker.
One person I phone a bit is a woman called Norrie Lalor. We usually talk about gardens, but over recent weeks that talk has grown sort of pointedly aimed at spring. The best season.
“I’m 90 now, and this will be the second spring I’ve missed. You’re young,” she tells me (though I’m not), “but I don’t know how many springs I have left.”