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.
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