Can you keep a secret? I suspect the vast majority of people will say “oh yes, of course”, hoping that you’re going to give them some juicy slice of gossip, which they’ll immediately reveal to the next person they see. “Don’t pass this on please, but can you believe this….”. The genuinely discreet and totally trustworthy person stands out. I can probably only think of a handful who I would’ve trusted with something really personal. I’ve met one recently and I think you get an instant sense of that discretion. It’s all the worse if you’re then proved wrong needless to say. I had to sign the Official Secrets Act when I joined the RAF. It’s actually quite a sweeping document and I’ll wager that the vast majority of people who’ve signed it have probably broken their promise at some point. For the most part these will be minor indiscretions that don’t immediately imperil National Security. I’m sure that I have unwittingly told of things that I ought not to have done. However, I never failed to be impressed (and deeply irritated!) by my father, who even twenty years after the War would say nothing of his experiences at Bletchley Park, now famous for its Enigmatic role in defeating the might of Germany. He would happily tell us stories of his time in India and the Far East (ad nauseam), but despite constant grilling by inquiring young minds the secrets of Bletchley remained firmly untold. Back then, we had no idea of its real significance anyway, otherwise we might have tied him up and waterboarded him. I really have no idea what he did there, other than knowing that he was an expert in communications, but it’s a shame that he went to his grave, his secrets interred with him.
Interred. Along with other delights such as ‘prick’ and ‘Uranus’, it gives comedy writers untold opportunities for double entendre or zweideutigkeit. I mention the latter only because I have a growing fascination with German. It was a language that I made a pathetic attempt to learn whilst stationed there for three years as an Army helicopter pilot. Unfortunately, practically everyone you came across was either a native English speaker or spoke it like a native, so there was little incentive to really get to grips with it. I did learn to swear in German, notably when there were two Porsches and a BMW making a close inspection of my exhaust pipe whilst bending the needle on the autobahn. The Germans are incredibly law-abiding for the most part, so when it says 80 or 50 that’s what they do. When it says there is no limit, that’s what they do too. I love many things about Germany, but watching three or four young blades sparring at 130 mph with nothing more than a cellophane wrapper separating them, closing rapidly in your rear-view mirror, you just have to pull over and hope that the impending accident happens after you’ve turned off.
As a bitter Englishman, who’s just watched our glorious lads being stuffed by the Welsh in the game William Webb-Ellis thought would never catch on, it’s somewhat galling to learn that Wales has claimed a new record. Today was the first time in history, well since records began anyway, that twenty degrees was exceeded in a winter month and it happened on the Atlantic coast of Wales. That must be a first too. The Country really is hot.
P.S. Don’t tell anyone.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 