3.bp.blogspot.comProof positive that blogging can provoke a change of heart, a correction of character. Some posts ago I pointed a metaphorical finger at my parents for the irreparable damage they wrought by forcing the Children's Newspaper on me (and my brother) while my friends' utterly irresponsible parents, with their arms up their backs, succumbed and bought the Dandy, the Beano or indeed, the Topper.
Last Thursday, on checking my pigeon hole at the factory, I found a rolled up package containing a newspaper, the sort of thing for which my mother is famed. If she thinks I would be interested, she rolls it up, slaps a stamp on it and a month or so later, I receive it. Well, I took it to my room and tore it apart. Sure enough, the Guardian Review fell out, of which more later. But, secreted within it was a copy of the Dandy and a copy of the Beano. Not before time. The rancour I have harboured all these years has evaporated and I feel more complete.
The Review contained a fascinating article about the demise of travel writing since the glory days of the 1970s and 80s but for a handful of authors who have taken the mantle of such greats as Wilfred Thesiger, Eric Newby and a favourite of mine, Colin Thubron. The writer of the article, William Dalrymple, himself a renowned practitioner, tells of one of those greats, Norman Lewis, who survives and writes to this day, aged 92. He was recently on a trip to Kos when he read a story in a local paper, about women on the small island of Anirini, who were apparently disposing of their unwanted husbands by throwing them down dry wells. He set off to the island on a boat with three sponge fishermen and a prostitute they had picked up on the quay at Piraeus. Apparently, "they spent the crossing alternately sleeping, eating and making love-the last on a strict rotation". On reaching the island, Lewis hopped ashore and found accommodation with one of the chief suspects, then went off to peer down wells, looking for corpses. At 92.
Cancel that order for carpet slippers.

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:)
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