There is a feeling of grim resignation now that war has begun. Although the inevitability of it seemed inescapable for so long, many hoped that the madness that seemed to have gripped leaders around the world would somehow, at the last minute, dissipate, and we would be pulled back from the brink.
“Old Toady”, a man with a very pronounced cold explained to me in a shop recently, “should be applauded for bringing the country together!” A vision of a character from Wind in the Willows morphed quickly into the face of the Prime Minister, when the man went on to explain:
When I was young my mother used to express her anger in an old fashioned way. When she came across an injustice or something she thought was very unfair she would say, “It makes me want to spit!” As a race we’ve obviously moved on somewhat in our methods of anger expression.
It’s that time of year again. Dean Martin is crooning about Rudolph in the sitting room, Slade are making merry in the kitchen and S club Juniors are stirring up an awful racket upstairs. The occasional shriek bounces from a bedroom as sellotape and little fingers do battle with Christmas wrapping paper.
I knew someone year’s ago – in fact many, many years ago – who once gave his best friend a Perry Como record for Christmas as a joke. The following year the recipient carefully broke the record in half, repackaged it in glossy Christmas wrapping and gave it back.
There certainly appears to be an international flavour to this months issue, from TC Evans’s fascinating insight into the African adventures of Dorset artists, to grim memories of the First World War in France, as researched by Dr John Dearlove – appropriate as we approach Remembrance Day.
Apologies for the lack of editorial last month. I have to assume that confirmation of the impending arrival of child number four… simply left me speechless.