I have just spent 10 days in the UK. It rained every day for five days and then it snowed. After the snow came the sleet and the day I left it was warm and sunny. On one of the snowy days I brushed 3 inches off the car of my daughter in law and went to collect my grandson from school. The narrow, country roads where my son lives, has thousands of potholes and on that particular day the snow had covered them, drawing unsuspecting drivers into them. Bang went the car in a concealed pothole. Immediately I knew that the exhaust had been knocked off but I had to drive another 60 metres in order to pull off the narrow road. Clanging along I thought of that Beatle's song, there are 12,000 holes in Lancashire, or something like that. Try Buckinghamshire!
I spent some time travelling by underground and train and was intrigued by the number of young people 18 to 40, male and female, who spend there journey time looking at themselves either in a mirror or with their phones. The females tend to be putting on or readjusting their make up, pouting and posing, or adjusting their already perfect hair. The men gaze at their faces from different angles, flicking their hair, smoothing it down or brushing it with their fingers. This behaviour seems perfectly normal to them and 'perfect' is the optimum word, achieving perfection. Set against my awful hair and lined face they all looked 'perfect' to begin with. I would rather read a book on my journey.
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