A friend cuts out snippets from newspapers and sends them to me every so often. Always enjoyable, sometimes thought-provoking and sometimes amusing. One, just before Christmas, was a mystery of obfuscation, to which he had appended a note ‘makes you think’. I wrote back, hope you didn’t understand it either or else I’m dim. Fortunately, the awfulness of the pretension was what had appealed to him too.
Today’s batch contained an article about Stonehenge, which, not that he knew it, I visited as a child and often pass by. I was glad when the cost of the tunnel by Stonehenge spiralled and caused the project to be abandoned. I have not visited since the barriers went up years ago; the point to me of Stonehenge is to wander around, no need to touch and so erode the stones, but to be close enough to ‘feel’ them. To park at a truly crappy Visitors’ Centre over the road and then be roped well away from the stones seems more than pointless, and so does an artificial Stonehenge Experience – they just are, and that’s enough for me. Second best is to drive past and be uplifted by a casual glance as one slogs down the A303. And know that one is only half an hour (given good luck and no hold-ups) from a more practically uplifting cup of tea or G&T with my sister.