Dear Santa, For Christmas this year, I would like a revolution. I’m rather ashamed that my parents have witnessed more revolutions in their lifetime than Victoria Beckham has denied dieting. By the time my mum and dad were married in 1969, they’d campaigned to stop the closure of the pirate station, Radio Caroline, by brandishing such placards as, “Make Wilson Walk The Plank”. They’d supped Ovaltine whilst watching a man walk on the moon and my mum had burnt her Liberty bra for liberty’s sake. Now, I give my old bras to Oxfam to recycle, reminisce over a glass of rioja as to how much fun we had as kids watching Mr Spoon on Button Moon and, in a Judas like fashion, listen to Radio One, the Government’s replacement for Radio Caroline. Now, let me make this very clear Santa. When I say a revolution, I don’t mean a ready-made one as is the current fashion. If I open my stocking on Christmas morn to find a media endorsed placard, or, a pre-written letter accompanied with a pre
The remarkable in the ordinary