2015 — 19 July: Sunday
Well, it seems to have rained overnight1 but the sun is now shining in readiness for our trip to Northampton. I was following the broad sweep of the route on my Tablet PC and doing OK up the A34, then up the M40, on to the A453, on to the M1 back to Junction #15 and "up a bit" on the A45, but after that...
...it gets a bit convoluted. We shall be relying on Madame Dominatrix-in-a-box for the last bit, methinks.
Meanwhile...
... there's the matter of breakfast, of course. Before despairing of plans to bean-count the BBC into oblivion:
Last Sunday, after I read in the Sunday Times of the culture secretary's plans, I was stuck in traffic on the north circular with the kids. A new young writer called John Osborne, who I hadn't heard of
before, came on Radio 4 and told a half-hour story about childhood holidays that left all of us, aged four, eight and 47, spellbound. The kids noticed I was crying and asked why.
I explained it was not just the quality of the work, but also that the government were dismantling the only broadcaster that would ever commission it. My eight-year-old said that if David Cameron did that he
would send him a collage of hundreds of photographs of dog muck. You cross creatives at your peril.