Something for you to ponder tonight before you slip under the covers. Where are we going to find enough troops to line the streets for Baroness Thatcher’s funeral?
We don’t have that many. Doubtless the Argies, sneaky the way they crept into the Falklands, have been reading our papers and noting the details, mapped route and all. They’re ready to have their bums spanked again.
Are we going to be caught with our knickers down a second time? No wish to worry you but I’m told Dad’s Army have been put on red alert for next Wednesday.
They wouldn’t want me. The Royal Air Force uniform’s been desecrated by the moths.
I met her dad once. For me an unforgettable one-to-one in Edinburgh and I’ve crowed about it. Often. The inimitable master film director John Huston.
This is his daughter Anjelica talking, who was married to the late sculptor Robert Graham: “Contrary to conventional wisdom, the older you get, the less make-up the better. Baby oil is genius and always has been.” Anjelica is 61.
Afterwords . . .
. . . In Bahrain they don’t like the Flintstones, in Abu Dhabi they do. Sent in to me by regular reader Graham Kenny from the Canongate. He thinks that’s funny and I confess I couldn’t suppress a mild giggle. So we’re both doolally.