Holiday
Holidays sound sunny and delightful, but they can be just about anything. My father, who would climb mountains in Scotland, often found at the top that the only dry place to sit was the inside of his hat. My son, as a child, thought one day he would have a holiday going round the mountains collecting grandad’s hats. Sometimes we would go to a good hotel in France and look forward to eating French food – but find the hotel would pride itself on giving guests British fare to please them. Holidays are the stuff of illusion: the sun’s going to shine, but not too fiercely; everyone’s going to be kind and helpful and you won’t get cornered by the most boring woman on the tour who thinks you will be her closest buddy. Oh well: don’t worry – soon you’ll be back at home.
The young
My eldest granddaughter is about to begin a course studying in London, and she may come to stay with me. I didn’t know much when I was her age, but it didn’t matter then, as I was boarding with a family who had two handsome sons with whom I could fall harmlessly in love with, without ever a touch being exchanged. When I went to college, we girls were just young maidens straight from school, but all the men had done national service, many in the war, and they knew a thing or two which they were anxious to teach us. So, what might my experience from all those decades ago offer the younger generation? What can I tell girls of today, deluged by sex at every turn? It would be the same simple advice I was given: don’t have sex for the sake of it, hold out for something really exciting and important.
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