I am staying with my father for a few days looking after him as my step mother is off in London to see wicked Uncle George. As I have noted before my family (little step sister Flea excluded) are a bunch of deluded lefties and so the paper delivered here every day is The Guardian. Imagine my horror at seeing Polly Toynbee’s face staring at me across the breakfast table in the morning.
I have already had a lengthy discussion about Israel/Hamas (Dad and Step Mother support Hamas ‘natch) and various welfare issues (do not ask). My step mother’s return is delayed by intense flooding here in South Warwickshire which will no doubt be blamed by one and all on Global Warming and/or Thatcher!
But I have found that the Guardian can be useful in one way. My Dad has a great big fireplace and although the logs are damp the Guardian is very burnable. My father was worried that I might be using today’s edition before he had fully digested it. I suggested that he might have a clearer world view if he did indeed burn the Guardian every day BEFORE reading it. But in the end we managed to find some old Toynbee for the fire. He takes delight in the continuing roaring flames. I take delight in what started the roaring flames.