I know this is perhaps not the place to say anything about club women, but dash it all, they do try my patience. For instance, most mornings I come into the club’s senior reading room accompanied by my eager mind and still-full lips. I nod to a few raised heads acknowledging my arrival, then plunge into the waiting newspapers from around the world that the club flunkies have laid out on the large wooden table that dominates the room.
Most of my loyal readers will recall that I have a Wednesday morning club advice hour, when I dole out the wisdom that I have accrued over a long lifetime to mems who have problems. These can range from the home front to the everyday goings-on at the club and all and sundry found throughout life itself. My helping hour has acquired a nickname: “The Queue.”
I sometimes wonder how many more surprises this world has in store for me and why it is that at my great age I have not yet experienced them all by now.
It does not matter how well one makes plans, something always goes awry, at least for me. I try, but I think it must be congenital in my case. Let me set the stage.
I love discovering long-ago battles that everyone seems to have forgotten, such as the Great Northern War between Charles XII of Sweden and Peter the Great of Russia in 1700.
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