Double dose of avoidance

Royal Wedding and the FA Cup Final. Two big events in one day, neither of which I was interested in, so Philippa and I went to a 1940s weekend at a Suffolk village and had a wonderful time. It was strange to be looking at World War Two vehicles parked in front of Tudor buildings – as if we’d been transported to a strange alternate existence where the timelines of England had been twisted and skewed and folded back on themselves. There was a good old-fashioned Swing band playing this evening so we had a bit of a bop.

Philippa drove home and I was rabbiting on about how wonderful it would have been if we’d lived 75 years ago and could have done this for real every weekend. She let me finish and then said “That would have been 1943. You’d have been dragged into the War somehow. I’d have been working in the Women’s Land Army and spending my nights getting jiggy with an American airman who would go like a piston because he knew he might get shot down and killed the next day. So yeah – it might have been fun.”

We spent the rest of the journey in silence.

RC 19-5-18