I heard on today’s news something about today being World Green Day and couldn’t help wondering whatever will they think of next? I suppose it keeps the grey cells of those shadowy grey figures lurking deep within the offices of officialdom busy dreaming up new ideas to inflict on us ordinary folk; distracting our attention from the mess their partners in other departments are making of our lives with more rules and regulations pouring off the statute books quicker than a humming-bird can flap its wings.
As from today, it seems, road hogs will have to mend their ways, or be fined and suffer three points on their licence if they tailgate another driver by driving too close, try to push into a queue at a roundabout after taking the wrong lane, or hog the middle lane of the motorway instead of giving way and moving over to the left. Can’t think why these have not been thought of before since both are bad habits, long considered dangerous. Well, better late than never, and certainly more important than all the shenanigans over ‘gay-marriage’ currently occupying far too much time at Westminster. Gay friends of mine who’ve been together more than forty years think the whole idea is daft – and have said so!
I have recently been considering down-sizing. Result: finding myself browsing among old books that have all become too precious to throw out. I wonder if anyone else remembers George Mikes. He was born in 1912 in Hungary and obtained his doctorate at Budapest University before becoming a journalist. He was sent to London to cover the Munich crisis; stayed to broadcast to Hungary during the war, and remained here ever after. I came across two of his books when studying for a diploma to teach English as a foreign language (TEFL): How to be an Alien and How to be Decadent. Someone ‘borrowed’ the former but I still have the latter and found myself giggling once more at his razor-sharp observations about Britain and the British.
Were he still alive, I have no doubt even he would be surprised at some of the changes that have taken place; not least seeing young girls, and women, walking around in skin-tight leggings over what appears to be a short dress with a frilled hem ending up somewhere near their crutches, while their scooped necklines expose cleavages that remind me of bouncing blancmanges. Walking with a friend of the same vintage we wondered what messages these females were trying to send to passers-by – the answer was not complimentary!