On Trials and Travels.

Somebody must have been into my house and changed the wall calendar. It’s on the page for May, but I’ve just been outside and it definitely isn’t May. I could believe early March, but February would be favourite.

*  *  *

Things could be worse. My current horror is the plight of the would-be migrants from Myanmar. They can’t go home and nobody will take them in, so they’re left bobbing around on the Indian Ocean with dwindling food supplies. It seems they’re now killing each other in desperation, which reminds me of how easily the veneer of civilised behaviour slips away when the stakes get high.

There was a time when the poor and oppressed simply went to America, but that isn’t an option any more. As dear Zoe (blessings be upon her) once said to me: ‘The world doesn’t let you wander any more.’ And I’ve always puzzled over how the poor and oppressed paid for their passage anyway. I had a thought about it once when I was walking across a mountain in the west of Scotland, following one of the routes that some of those dispossessed by the Highland Clearances would have taken. It depressed the hell out of me. It seems I get horrified easily when I peruse the darker side of human nature.

‘You’re too sensitive.’

‘We’ve done that one.’

*  *  *

Still, let’s turn the heat down and the lights up. For those who didn’t watch the little excerpt from Duck Soup last night, I should like to quote my favourite line from Groucho:

‘You can leave in a taxi. If you can’t find a taxi you can leave in a huff. And if that’s too soon, you can leave in a minute and a huff.’

There, that’s better. And there’s a tiny money spider hiding under my keyboard cable as I type. Good omen, I hope. (It resumed its journey as I typed the last sentence. It’s currently heading north.)