Oofy here: Editorial: ‘nough about me. Need a break. Writin’s hard – and here’s another question. Haven’t spotted the question mark. Must be somewhere. Give me a shout ‘f you come across it.
At this stage in our tercentennial celebrations for that roly-poly, roistering rooster and riding man, Capability Brown, I have heard cries and sighs of satiation from men and from women – there is too much juice I hear, too much pleasure, they are browned off with Brown.
I referred in my note 29 to the aversion that the wonder-gardener Capability Brown felt towards ‘shewing a road’ and I judged that his aversion sprang from the desire to disconnect the components, and thus to induce an air of reverie, of dream, en fin, of mystery, into his landscapes.
Mr J, a shepherd at Whitchurch, Hants., has asked whether ordinary people can understand the gardener, Capability Brown, convincing though he may be to the cognoscenti. Conventional wisdom has it that since Brown worked for an aristocratic elite, you won’t be able to understand his work unless you puff yourself up with titles and a pretension to court dress.