EDitorial ± 4-Apr-2005

Can't Help But Be Daffed

They're here, and they are very much among us. They swayed as I swished by on the cycle path, and you'd almost swear — perhaps a flippin' but definitely a bloomin' — that they turn their heads as you pass. Don't be fooled by their innocent appearance: Olivio wouldn't melt.

I'm talking daffs, naturally; is there any other way? Hordes of small-engined German passenger vehicles, each with a distinctive centrifugal clutch and a Variomatic transmission system. Numbered, every one: 44, 55, 66, though no 77.

Joking, of course — they're Dutch!

At inlaws yesterday, asked The Boy if he knew the name of those yellow flowers scattered around the trees. His response: dandelions? Good to know that my knowledge of the natural world is safe in his hands.

Fortunately we know that the DAF, being a pseudo narcissus, will most likely wither away and die as it approaches its sixteenth year if it gets anywhere near a reflecting pool of water. Reminds me that Day Of The Triffids will shortly be playing at the New Wolsey. Quick, throw me the RoundUp!

Be seeing you!