Letter from Madree


At the mo, in the run-up to the Natal season, I’m not feeling very inspired. I mean, I have got some vague notes for a three-part thing about shopping, but it might be crap. I’ve also come up with something about my awful, awful flatmate, but for reasons of domestic diplomacy it will have to wait. For a month.

Howeva, reading about this me realise that occasionally, on a good day, I like to imagine myself as a hopefully slightly less boring and considerably more left-wing Alistair Cooke:

An investigation is under way in New York into allegations that the bones of the late broadcaster Alistair Cooke were stolen before his cremation.

Mr Cooke, known for the Letter from America he broadcast for the BBC, died almost two years ago, aged 95.

You can listen to his first ever ‘Letter from America’ here. And here is a tribute at the start of which you can detect where my aspirations lie.

Before you listen: I did not say they were not boring. And I don’t think I heard a woman’s voice at any point. Towards the end of the tribute you can hear the Cookie Monster, but it’s almost not worth waiting up for. You can also listen to the last one here, but I should warn you: he didn’t know he was about to die, and it shows.

Incidentally, I don’t know what it means to have your bones stolen. Anyone any ideas?

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