Tony Blair as frightener of little girls? Yes. Admittedly, he is not one of those leaders (Granny won't name them) who believes in arresting his subjects arbitrarily and mistreating them - not if you're not a Muslim preacher anyway - or in some way the wrong kind of Muslim - most likely he does not allow the torture even of those; unless he exports them to a foreign country which has less friendly habits; whereupon he can pretend it isn't his fault, is it? Just as he has been proclaiming that the appearance of our local suicide bombers isn't his fault either; that his foreign policy in general, Iraq in particular, has nothing to do with the case. Well, the lead article in the Observer yesterday gives the lie to that. The Foreign Office have been warning him for a year of its effect on young Muslims. All of which got left out of officially published reports on improving relations with the Muslim community. Of course.
Granny took beloved eldest granddaughter out for the day on Saturday. It was a perfect day in every respect except one; what granddaughters and grandmothers are FOR, granny thinks. And no she does not mean the slight altercation over the Brie sandwich at lunchtime - the bread had to be exchanged with the bread that arrived with Granny's spinach soup, uncontaminated by rocket leaves and chilli-tomato chutney - they have smart sandwiches in the Tate these days. As Granny scraped the offending items off the cheese itself she exchanged sympathetic glances with the man at the next table engaged in a discussion with similarly aged young as to whether the artichoke in the pasta salad would have made the whole thing taste of it....growl - oh for the days of British rail sandwiches/meat and two veg and 'eat it all up or else' - well, maybe not. Anyway that was not the problem. Any more than the pictures of Frida Kahlo were - wonderful - 'but some of them are so much smaller than I expected,' said Granddaughter - they were too, but this did not least diminish the equally enhanced power of them seen in the as it were flesh. Nor was the wait for the bus to the Albert Hall (long) before the prom, or the not short attempt to catch a taxi from others taller and louder after. And the concert certainly was not the problem, despite the 45 minutes of its second half, devoted to Rimsky-Korsakov's Sheherezade - a certain amount of wriggling went on but it did not reduce the enjoyment. Granddaughter refused to leave till the very last encore had been played. The day was a big success. Granny enjoyed it anyway. She has every impression Granddaughter did too, seeing the intensity with which she looked at the pictures, the grin of pleasure when brass and percussion erupted in full voice.
The only problem was the one admitted to Beloved Daughter - Granddaughter's mother - the next morning. 'I was frightened going on the tube.'
Labels: family stories