Not long returned and you’ll understand that the newspapers of the future had little to say of what has occurred in my absence. Actually that’s not true. There were no newspapers, and those that there were (of which there were none) were saying much the same things on much the same topics. The grey custard of the news to be had then did not so much inform as comfort, or outrage, as ever by one’s preference.
A lot of what I’ve since caught up with is the usual background fluff. A giant meteorite has smashed into Russia and bendy robots have singularly failed to be seen. North Korea has declared that they now have a fully functioning death star. A stolen Poundland has been found on auction in America, complete with tattoo. Several leading brands of lager have been castigated after being found to be 70% horse piss. Tomb Raider soon. The Mordor-fication of the Elephant and Castle has been completed with the spotting of the lidless eye of Sauron. And a Pope has resigned shortly before receiving his final written warning from his employer. The last I knew about because I heard it from the Pope-after-the-next one where my sprouts me him in the woods.
Which is not how it sounds, or rather it is exactly as it sounds. People without children will often post about how nowadays children don’t make dens and climb trees, that they are smothered by their overly protective parents. I’ve not met a parent yet that when faced with their children wanting to go out and play haven’t looked towards the kettle and hurriedly helped them on with their wellies.
Pope Rupert (though no longer strictly the pontiff) was in the midst of having a day of adventure. Rupert did that. Does that still I have to presume since I read Rupert when I was a lad. Every Christmas I’d get the latest annual and as the early years went slowly I moved from looking at the pictures to reading the rhymes to finally reading the stories. I got the annual on Christmas Eve so as to have something to do rather than just fail to sleep. And they were great. And yes, Rupert and his chums are rural middle class kids but that’s all right since it throws the loss of many of them in the war that later follows into sharper relief. In the original stories it’s always the 1920s and whilst adults tussle with Cthulhu their children have no less daring to do, and probably a lot more fun. That the events of 1945 which saw Rupert return to religion and his eventual rise to the Papacy cannot be foreseen in the original stories is a good thing; life does not always foreshadow tomorrow. I don’t know much about his term on the throne of Peter, but elderly as he was the faithful bear only added to the adventures the sprouts undertook in these days now gone by. Whilst I, I was able to drink tea.
And wine once the sprouts tired and weary had gone to bed.
Though not communion wine.