Barely Brideshead

A poignant book. Written effortlessly by Waugh, this book is full of echoes, mirrors and allusions. Like the paintings of old English houses Charles paints, capturing the glory before the wrecking crew moves in to knock up a red-brick block of flats. here is the last sad glow of the English glory. Eton and Oxford, a decent regiment, a safe seat, a good match. Dinner at the Savoy and summers in Venice.

Old folks, old road

There’s the highway, sometimes loved, sometimes buried under their more modern four or six lane, sometimes ignored in favour of a convenient Interstate. The hokey diners, the tourist traps, the faded remnants. And here and there the narrow old road, weeds poking up through the gaps in the slabs, sometimes taking a second life as a service road, sometimes missing pieces like John’s memory.