I direct you to my latest post at My Uncle’s Letters from the War, wherein my uncle mentions a trip to Winchester and a visit to its cathedral.
Made me think of this song, in which hippies are nostalgic for the days of vaudeville. Rather like when we are nostalgic for hippies, though God knows why we would be. The 1960s, as my late brother used to say, have a lot for which to answer.
But this song is cute.
Hello, dear readers, and welcome to the third incarnation of my website. My previous incarnation has not been destroyed, but I am trying to decide whether to link to it or not. There is something to be said for cyber-decluttering, yes? Currently, this site is a tad bare-bones, but for now that should do.
For my first post, I’d like to pay tribute to Rod McKuen, who died recently, and who, throughout his career, got much mockery as a poet. There was a scene in Woody Allen’s wonderful Sleeper, where Diane Keaton, as a poet of the future, recites one of her terrible poems and someone tells her he can hear the influence of McKuen in it.
But heck, he wrote some lovely hokey songs. One of my favourites, sung by the genius himself, Frank Sinatra.