I had a busy weekend, as usual. On Sunday I popped into the Market Square in Aylesbury for the Rememberance Day service. It was packed with people, old soldiers, young soldiers, cadets and people like me, just paying their respects. The two minutes of silence was preceded by the Last Post, it always gets to me. It was a grey day but for once I saw the beauty in it. I appreciated the history around me. How many men had stood within the Town Square, hearts full of hope as they marched to War.
I always get a little romaticised at this time of year. I watched a program on Keith Douglas, a WW2 poet. I wasn't familiar with his work but his life had all the hallmarks that mark him out as a great. Well bred, served on the frontline in Africa and at the Normandy landings and died young. It is a bonus that his poetry is superb. This was followed by a program on Wilfred Owen, a surefire way to focus my mind on the days to come and to feel that fake empathy with something that I know nothing about. It's almost as if Owen wrote his poems to me rather than the Generals and the Military minds that sent the young men to war, a salute to the morons of the future that glamorise a war that cost a generation and from which this Country never truly recovered. It is more likely that we are, as every generation has been, absolutely supportive of our soldiers, sailors and airmen and we hold them in high regard and it brings out the feelings of patriotism that we spend the other 364 days stifling.
It dawned on me that as a child, the marches were led by old men, the soldiers of the First World War. They have been replaced with the veterans of World War 2, with the soldiers of the Falklands now replacing them in the marching order. I know it is an age thing but it is depressing to see the current crop of young men as veterans with a whole generation of soldiers from the Great War now dead. They always looked so proud, chests full of medals, harking back to the time of biplanes, the tank was a new development, cavalry were still charging into battle on horseback, the Battleships were the pride of the Oceans and communication was done from spotters, runners, pigeons and telephone lines. The last of the old style wars and the first of the modern wars.
After the service I decided to take the Girls to Woburn Safari Park and test my lens.
We got there and of course, it being a Safari Park, you drive. This wasn't so great for mister moron and his whacking great lens, sitting in a running, vibrating car, trying to take a photo, hand held, of a moving animal. I have some beautifully screwed up pictures of Zebras, Giraffes Lions and Tigers. I had an eye on the animals and another eye of the flashing fuel guage. Mister Idiot was running on empty and working out what to do when he ran out of fuel in either the Lion, Tiger or Wolf enclosure. I totally missed the Monkey enclosure as the thought of sitting there, out of fuel while the little buggers tear my car apart around my ears, was one thought too far. Note to self, next time don't be such a smart arse, you may think you have enough fuel but you're an idiot.
The weather deteriorated to the point of rain and drizzle so we parked up and I managed a nice shot of a Squirrel Monkey and a Lynx and ballsed up some shots of penguins. I would have to say that it was a very expensive experiment gone wrong which is stupid considering the animals are caged, how wrong would it go?
Just up the road in Woburn Sands is a fish and chip shop (Deep Blue), which has gluten free fish 'n' chips on Sundays and Mondays. So after I filled the car with diesel, I phoned them and booked some fish and chips all round. The idea was to pick up, pay and go home. I told my darling daughters to stay in the car, left the radio and heating on and popped into the fish shop, paid, collected food and turned to leave and....both my darling daughters were standing there waiting for me.....Guess what the first thing they said to me was.......
"Daddy, do you have your carkeys?" I went cold. I will shorten the story as it involved lots of shouting and at one point I was bouncing a knife sharpener off the side window of the car (it was all the chip shop had that they could lend me), trying to break it. I could hear the radio and the heater in the car and see the keys dangling tantalisingly close in the ignition. Eventually I asked the chip shop if I could borrow their phone as mine was locked in the car and called my insurance company, who called Green Flag and within 20 minutes a big van with lots of flashing lights and a very amiable mechanic turned up, opened the car in 10 minutes with no damage and I was on my way. I don't think that my daughters will be making that mistake again....neither will I.
Life is seldom boring. I could say that everyday brings a new challenge but I hate that, it implies that a challenge is a good thing rather than something to be avoided at all costs. Maybe that's where I differ from the the likes of Owen and Douglas, they embraced the challenge and pursued their way, challenging and changing the face of modern poetry. I am an armchair warrior, understanding their War through their words, books and television, all without their experiences and all I can say to that, is thank God.
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