Ramblings

Dear Readers

The late US President George H.W. Bush had quite a war. He enlisted in the US Navy on his 18th birthday. He was assigned duties flying a torpedo bomber off an aircraft carrier, flying his first combat mission at the age of 19. In 1944, when he was 20, his aircraft successfully attacked several targets on a Japanese installation, but was then downed by enemy fire. Both of his fellow crew members died, but he managed to bail out from the aircraft and after some hours in the water he was rescued by a US submarine.

Several of the aviators shot down during the attack were captured and executed, and their livers were cannibalized by their captors.

But never mind all that. In the minds of the American public he suffered in comparison to his predecessor Ronald Reagan, because he didn’t look as badass. Reagan the actor (most said not a very good one) could play the part better, could dress like a cowboy without looking absurd, even looking comfortable on a horse. Whereas Bush came across as dull, wooden and uncharismatic. Voters preferred the image of Reagan, who spent his war making training films in Hollywood. Bush joined the Loser’s Club of one-term presidents, and his odious son later secured two terms by waging a disastrous war of choice from the safety of the Oval Office. Bush senior was adjudged not cool.

Anyway, this is about me, of course. Now I’m not suggesting for a moment I could have been a bomber pilot (it took five shots to pass my driving test for chrissake) or survived bailing out under fire. But I have, briefly, by people who don’t know me, been seen as cool.

Both of my daughters have mentioned that at some time, something I had done came up in conversation with their friends. It may have been my running – that I have run seventeen marathons, including the Big Six which make up the global Majors. Perhaps the crazy, surreal adventure that is The Edward Lear trail. Or it may have concerned Private Eye, where I was a collaborator on the cartoon series Forgotten Moments in Music History, which ran for over eight years. That my daughter is in a cool band. Perhaps about my blog. Or that I used to work as a bond trader in the City. Or that I had a book accepted for publication while I was at university, and three more published later. Or my efforts to give a local piece of woodland a strange new name. Or the strange family ritual surrounding a dog toy.

At some point, one of my daughter’s friends will say something like “your dad sounds cool!”. Then another friend in the group – one who has met me – will pull a face and shake their head. They have witnessed my Mr Bean tendencies first hand. So Rachel and Alice have termed me Cool On Paper. It seems you’re either cool or you’re not, and there’s nothing much you can do about it. So if you like reading my stuff, but haven’t met me yet, do yourself a favour and keep it that way. You’ll only spoil it.

Yours

Rik Edwards C.O.P