Three neighbours came over to wish me a happy Independence Day today. So I guess all is forgiven after the war of 1776. One well-wisher, I admit, thought we should be celebrating with turkey and pumpkin pie – a vegetable which he thought was a total waste of time. But to be celebrating July 4th at all in Cambridge, England in a quintisessential English village with thatched roofs and rose gardes is a surprise.
But I miss Richard Eves, an iconoclastic Yorkshireman who’d become a very good friend when we were living in the Lake District. He died several months ago, so there is no one to phone and egg me on to hang an American flag outside our window.
You know, I would have done it if I’d only had a flag.
