Joy.

Joy unbounded! Interfacial has not left me. It was all a dreadful mistake. Himher must have popped out for a cup of tea with their really old comatose mother-in-law, ‘it’. AND interfacial is joined by Redsally! who, if I’m not mistaken, is an old comrade of mine from our Anthony Blunt days. Anthony, third and youngest son of the Revd Stanley Vaughan Blunt (1870–1929) and his wife, Hilda Violet, daughter of Henry Master of the Madras civil service, brother of writer Wilfrid Jasper Walter Blunt and of numismatist, Christopher Evelyn Blunt, and the grandnephew of poet Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, was a jolly fellow. (Isn’t Wikipedea amazing) Many’s the time, while plotting the overthrow of Harold Macmillon et al, would we spontaneously break out in the whole 37 verses of The Red Flag and remember Yalta and Potsdam. Yalta was Anthony’s Yorkshire terrior, sadly deceased from vodka poisoning, but Potsdam the budgie is I believe still with us, if greatly debilitated by feather falling bouts of eczema. Redsally would drink late into the night often being found and returned to her lodgings by comforting English bobbies unaware of her plans to establish universal ownership by the proleteriat. We were not though lovers of Stalin. Well at least I wasn’t. We were Marxists. At every opportunity we would spit in the face of other partygoers. Not maliciously, we just got excited half way through our cheese and onions on-a-sticks and volavaunts. Young and gay and in London. We could change the world. Those were the days my friends of Mary Hopkins, a song incidentally penned by Gene Raskin, who put English lyrics to the Russian gypsy song "Dorogoi dlinnoyu" written by Boris Fomin (1900-1948) with words by the poet Konstantin Podrevskii, so it’s no wonder we warmed to its haunting melody. So Hello Redsally, lovely to have you following this humble mouse.