pumpkinstrokemarrow

My second was a bad quality senior moment, in that it might have had untoward results. Decided that I needed to wear a floppy hat against the bright sun; bright sun doing eyes in seeming to be the latest fad at the opticians, quite apart from not being very comfortable. The snag is that I am not very good with or used to hats and did not realise how much it cuts one's visibility down. So crossing Grosvenor Crescent at Hyde Park Corner, look around to the right, see nothing and start to march across. At which point a white van comes to a sudden halt at my side; a white van which I had not seen, being behind the brim of the floppy hat, at all.

After which, repaired to a pub in Gloucester Road to recover, where I had an attack of the bubbles. If I was a Spaniard, very hot on my family honour and all that sort of thing, was it OK to kill someone who had stained that honour furtively, by stealth, craft or cheating? Or was it only OK to call him (presumably not her) out and fight it out decently with seconds? From I can remember of Mafia films, Mafiosi are hot on honour but not so scrupulous about how they get rid of stains thereon. This all brought on by being reminded that in Hamlet, Laertes tries to get his revenge on Hamlet by using a poisoned foil in the climactic fencing match. To my mind, bluffing, feinting and other wheezes during the match are all fair game and above board. But a bit of jiggery-pokery beforehand is not. On the other hand, pretending to the Germans in 1944 that we were going to attack in one place in France and then attacking in another is OK. Stakes to high to be scrupulous. But did the French think we were unsporting to shoot their nobles at Agincourt with commoners? At which point we thought it better to break off and move on to the next establishment.

On the way to which we discover that Karnac Books has vanished and the site looks as if it is about to be a bistro or something. But that there was an Oxfam bookshop nearby which made up a bit. I managed to acquire a sort of French Folio-style collected novels by one Francois Mauriac. Still in their plastic wrappers and boxes, presumably more or less untouched since purchase back in 1965. 135 francs at that time for copy number 1920 of 15,000. Boards covered with some shiny patterned pink fabric. Complete with rather odd illustrations. It turns out that M. Mauriac is a Catholic Nobel Laureate so he ought to be worth a read. Approximately 2,000 pages to go.

Challenge for this evening is to work out what 135 francs then would be worth now, in the sense of how many bottles of wine would it buy then? Did I get a bargain? Mr G. offers http://currency-history.blogspot.com/ for starters, good try but not quite what I need. Wikipedia says that in 1965 a French franc was worth 1.2 2007 Euros, where I assume that 'is worth' means that a franc could buy in 1965 about what a euro could buy in 2007. Which I interpret to mean that I got a brand new book for about a tenth of its considerable price. Good cheese if one turns out to like the book.

When we got to the next establishment we found that it had been renamed the 'Duke of Gloucester' and tricked out with fancy glass with coats of arms and what have you. A nice bit of retro furnishing. Beer fine if a little dear.

Three interesting sights on the way home. First, a thirty five year old lady reading an improving book on her way home on the train. The title of the book was 'With God's help you can master your mind' and the chapter being read appeared to be about mind over mouth. That is to say managing not to say the first nasty thing that comes into one's mind when in a strop. Managing to tone it down into something civilised. Presumably this was a bit of an issue with the lady concerned.

Second, a ramp at the end of what I thought was a concrete platform at Mitcham Junction was covered in the sort of roofing felt one might put on a shed roof. Why would one do that? Is it worth stopping next time through Mitcham Junction to investigate further?

Third, a motorbike with what appeared to be a plastic chain. More like the sort of thing you get in a car that you ought to have on a motorbike. Have the bizease decreed that no motorbike may have a chain in case the chains get used in gang fights among Hell's Angels? After all, it is not so many weeks since a group of Hell's Angels were convicted for what seemed like a more or less gratuitous and pointless murder of a member of a rival gang.