So, out of the blue, comes a connection from Michelle Dee.
What also is amazing is that, having been away for a week or two, and not blogging here, the stat-porn is Up!
Leave that be, and retreat to Ms Dee’s point.
The Shipping Forecast
Why, in this age of satellite communications, are we persisting with this daily ritual? Why can Malcolm recite, in order, the two-and-a-half dozen forecast areas? Why does his soul miss Minches and Finisterre (and that link, had you passed over it, inadvertently, is definitely worth the visit)?
Malcolm heard the Shipping Forecast every night he was back in the parental home, particularly when the Auld Fella’s hearing was worse than bad. Then Ronald Binge’s Sailing By.
Then the prompt click, lest any dirge of the National Anthem disturb the mood. Believe it or not, the great majority may be somewhat less than enthusiastically monarchist.
That, Ladeez and Gennelmen, is true essence of being British. Of belonging.
Which prompted in Malcolm a notion …