The wife buggered off to Eastbourne on Saturday. I�d woken up early, coaxed her gently from sleep, or rather tried to. Eventually got her up by inserting sticks of dynamite under the bed. I suggested going down to the coast for the day.
�Oh no�, she said, �It�ll be cold there�.
Fair enough.
An hour later, her friend Hava called.
�Some Turkish girls are getting together and making Turkish food in Eastbourne. Let�s go!�
And so off she went. I dropped her off at the train station, then got Angus� stuff ready to leave him at his Gran�s. Left him there, then I was left in blissful peace for a Saturday night. I decided to go up to the old watering hole, the White Horse. I saw Julian (old chum) up there. After a few beers, and not much going on, we decided to go back to his gaff to carry on drinking. He lives in a brand new flat overlooking the broad sweep of the Thames Valley and Sonning Eye. It is utterly spotless, apart from having underwear draped over the radiators. This I found surprising: I�d expected the homely chaos of a bachelor, certainly where Jules was concerned.
�Nope, mate�, he said, �I like it just like this. Immaculate�.
It wasn�t the only change I noticed in my old mucker. He�s changed thoroughly.
Opinions? Well,
�Thatcher was right. Fuck Tony. The whole country�s going down the pan, mate. Asylum seekers and Guardian readers? Hah!�, and so on and so forth.
Not so much opinions as leader articles for the Sun or the Daily Mail.
I found it saddening, in many ways. Of course, we haven�t really been in the same social group for ages, but I never really reckoned on someone who was a radical in his teens and early twenties doing such a volte-face. Still, he is an old friend, someone I�ve known for nearly thirty years, and we decided not to talk politics and just get drunk instead, which was fine. I eventually staggered home at about three