Come to the tropics. I am sitting here in the evening in a T-shirt. It's a lovely 25 celcius. Thinking of all you guys. We don't have a heater system anywhere. Actually, come to think of it, we don't have any blankets either.
And am SO glad I am not where you are now...
Grace Bros? Package? Johnsons for children? I give up! I officially declare myself the cleanest-minded person here.
I shall never open my mouth again for fear of what I might unintentionally say. I shall go and stroke my, er, cat instead.
Now, of course, I an wondering how many times I have used "box" innocently when speaking to Americans and had them suck in their cheeks trying to keep a straight face...
Sigh.
I wouldn't have called myself clean-minded, but sorry - the expression love box means absolutely nothing to me, except that it is the name of a UK band.
But then, I'm not American...
Ah, Teresa, you shouldn't have explained. It was much more fun imagining what you wanted the filter for...plankton, wood dust, squaraine dyes, singed shakers...
#37 Martyn - if he hadn't come back, I wouldn't be here! I wasn't born until the end of the next war...
I have seen the rows and rows of identical white crosses in northern France - with the poppies growing, and even the memory of seeing that brings a lump to my throat. My father was actually sent to Gallipoli, but while in Egypt waiting for transport to Turkey, the troops were withdrawn and they were sent to the cold of a particularly bitter European winter without proper clothing. And one of the saddest things is that he didn't believe in what he was doing, not really. He certainly didn't want to kill anyone, and I suspect that might have had something to do with volunteering for the mule train too.
And then when it was all over - they had to wait so long to come home. Imagine how the troops in Iraq would feel about that. "Sorry chaps, I know your tour of duty is up, but we don't have a way to send you back yet. Just hang around for another 18 months until we find a ship, ok?"
My dad fought in the Great War, in France. He didn't want to go, but he was one of 9 brothers, and he was elected because he wasn't married - either that or face total ostracism. He took part in the battle of Ypres. He volunteered to run the mule train up to the trenches from the ammo dumps - he reckoned that way he wouldn't know anything about it if he was hit. And apart from that he never told us kids anything. Ever.
After it was over it was 18 months before he got home to Australia - there were no ships.
My mother told me that when WW2 started, he went around for a whole day saying "The buggers are at it again, the buggers are at it again." I think of him a lot November 11th, and all those wasted years.
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