I am standing in a doorway looking through clouds of blowing dust to where I am told there is still uncut forest. Yesterday I drove through miles of stumps, and charred remains of fires where, in 1956, there was the most wonderful forest I have ever seen, all now destroyed. People have to eat. They have to get fuel for fires.
David Hockney is marching through London with the Countryside Alliance, not in favour of fox hunting per se but because he’s a libertarian. His placard reads “End Bossiness Now.” But it seems too abrupt..
What’s a sure thing? My husband’s love is a sure thing. Or is it? How unfashionable to suggest that it might be. But if not, we’re left with crotchety, big-bellied Benjamin Franklin’s doubtless...