The last word (for now) in this place on the London bomb attacks. From an email from my father, who commutes into central London every day to drink tea and ponder engineering questions in the defense of an unsuspecting nation:
"Journey in to London a bit quiet and sometimes slow but at least I can get a seat (on the train) at the moment."
One man's hysterical fear-filled reaction is another's blessed rush hour leg room.
Dad also comfirmed the extremely filthy derivation of the mildly perjorative British insult "Berk" (so popular with the young 'uns, at least in days gone by) as theorized by the late Douglas Adams in his essay on swearing brought to my attention by my good pal RPS. Frankly, I'm shocked and appalled, especially given all the times dad called me a berk in the seventies and eighties, but what can I say? Pater is from the hood, the E17, the Perkiss boys' manor, and he knows a grand don't come for free.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment