JOHNVAGABONDAGAIN

One year. In spite of his increasingly transparent delusions – the word ‘failings’ is far too gentle – Vladimir Putin has not been defeated and the war drags on. They said the Great War would be ‘over by Christmas’ after only a few months of fighting but it took four weary years with countless white crosses and the flower of Europe’s manhood lost to bring the madness to a close. When I was at school, we had a war museum containing artefacts pillaged from battlefields. I still recall seeing a German helmet from WW1 with a neat entrance hole where the wearer’s temple would have been and a gaping occipital exit. As the song says, when will they ever learn? A German language film loosely based on Erich Maria Remarque’s 1929 bestseller ‘All Quiet On The Western Front’ (in German, ‘nothing new in the West) captured the terror and futility as it tracked the progress of German volunteers in the last year of the war and won seven BAFTAs, including Best Film. It’s a chilling, difficult watch not

The media are a fickle, unprincipled lot. I spoke to my insanely clever and talented son at length yesterday and since this is quite a rare occurrence, a few thoughts stuck with me. We are a quarter century apart, he and I which is lifetimes of cultural shifting and he is old enough to be a generation removed from the frenzied bloodbath of media hype  so beloved of twentysomethings Britain which, it seems, is doomed. Runaway inflation, crippling debt, gargantuan fuel costs. Strikes, a broken health system with medical staff walking out or quitting, three week waits to see a doctor. Rebellions, extinct and otherwise paralysing and disrupting people's lives. If we actually believed much of what the papers tell us, politics is a busted flush and we're teetering on the brink of democratic meltdown, running helter-skelter to destruction with our fingers in our ears. Not quite so. Some borrow only as last resort, have fixed rate mortgages, insulate their homes properly and put on an

D uring  lockdown I rather enjoyed watching church services online while lounging in my bathrobe, sipping coffee,  Being something of a spiritual butterfly,  If something failed to hold my interest, I could surf the web in search of better music or  something slicker and  more engaging . In other words, it was governed by mood or emotional engagement, not by any semblance of discipline or responsibility. Which was fun. For a time. But, the sheer volume of the religious smorgasbord on offer was itself an invitation to laziness. In the U.K ,  church attendance averages less than 6 %  of the population.   The late poet R. S. Thomas, a priest in the Church of Wales, called himself “a vicar of large things in a small parish.”   Yet, a quarter of British adults watched or listened to a religious service during the coronavirus lockdown, and one in twenty started praying during th at  crisis. I’ve had a checkered history with the church.  From low Anglicanism to Pentecostalism as it perfused i

It's been a while. Here I am, ashamed and guilty. I have been editing, examining and doing odd jobs here and there. On examining, once again, flushed with success and repetitive strain injury, my team has done sterling work, setting another battalion of the young into their next adventure at university - few real problems this year. It 's emotionally a bit flatlining - one works for days on end, dreaming of little red marks on a computer screen. Then, nothing. It takes its toll. Imagination, even here, looks dun-coloured and wan, since I find myself asking the unanswerable. Was I fair, always? And, what now? The grind of the surf gives way to the freedom of the ocean where I get to think new thoughts or even process old ones. Also, do I have anything very original to say? Everybody has written about transgender rights, school shootings, Putin's war and the absurd Partygate. So, what else could be written about that's really unusual , really edgy, really...different? Per

I read something quite strange today. The white T shirt, once worn exclusively by construction workers with sweaty armpits and cascading chest hair, who reeked of Guinness and hand rolled cigarettes, is making a comeback as this year's go-to for fashionistas.  Everybody gotta have one. I never really went from, so I suppose the cost of best quality Sea Island cotton will send prices through the roof.  It's really a thought-free process. White is right under almost all circumstances. Not altogether a good plan to cook in one, especially if expensive, fat droplets splatter - there's an interesting piece of physics here - and splatter stains, along with turmeric and spaghetti sauce tend to rather spoil the look.  The ultra-discreet Italian clothing brand Loro Piana, which caters for the most uber of the uber-rich and is a favourite of (surprise)Vladimir Putin sells a perfect white cotton jersey. Would I pay 900 euros for a T-shirt? Er, no. It's interesting, however, once o