I have been watching a lot of The Crown on Netflix recently, but it seems to be a never completed task as no sooner do I get to the end of one series, another comes out. Like painting the Forth bridge. You no sooner finish than you have to start again.
For those not from the UK, the Forth bridge is a steel railway bridge across the Forth of Forth in Scotland that is renowned for its need for continuous maintenance!
Although The Crown is intended to be fictional in terms of detailed content, the fact that the characters are real people, and the political and social events portrayed also match historical fact, it’s of course quite hard to believe that much of what is presented does not match reality. There have been many eyebrow raising revelations already. For most a quick Google search validates at least the rumour, if not the truth. So quite a number of revised opinions about various political and royal figures is now the state of things.
So why am I sorry to dissapoint? I am not considering writing memoirs at this stage in my life , and no, this is not a deluded rhetorical protest of ‘but surely you are not old enough’ nor is it the reverse. Actually age perception is a funny thing in my family and particularly in late departed mother who lived well past her eighties . From about the age of 60 when having the suggestion of replacing an item of furniture or investing in a new appliance would always say…’ no need for that, it will see me out’. I am glad to say she was very wrong and outlived most of these things as we knew she would.
No, quite simply nothing I could put in memoirs, or even a daily diary. I have no exciting revelations…not a single forgotten romance with a princess, no hidden trips to visit foreign leaders of state and no newspaper headline splashes of a hedonistic lifestyle.
But don’t despair…a recent chance family conversation about a Wallace & Gromit train track game played many years ago by our then school age children gave rise to a throw away comment of ‘would you have liked to be a train driver Dad?’ . Much to everyone’s surprise, I revealed that at age 13 I had actually driven a train! Back then, before I discovered girls I had discovered trains and on a spotting visit to local railway yards to get train numbers I was invited by a friendly train driver to have a go at driving a locomotive. Back in the early 1970’s it seems that Health & Safety , or indeed protection of children from adults hadn’t really been at the top of the agenda.
For the avoidance of doubt I neither crashed the locomotive nor was I subject to anything inappropriate!
The kindly driver will have long since retired and will be driving trains in the sky, but anyway I will maintain a degree of anonymity about when and where.