I've had a misguided attitude for years about Armistice Day, Remembrance Sunday and the wearing of poppies. "I'm a pacifist," I used to argue with myself, "so I won't wear one, it all glorifies war." I wouldn't even wear a white one. Today, my son, who, against my better wishes, spends some of his time as a sea cadet ("it's fun," he says, which is surely a lie, as for the first 13 years of his life he expressed zero interest in tying knots and marching up and down wearing a silly uniform), took part in a Remembrance Sunday event. So, for the first time in my life, I went along. And found the whole thing moving. And felt a lot of respect for all the ex-servicemen shuffling along the main road in the parade after the wreath laying. And wore a poppy.
Listening: Teenage Fan Club - Man Made
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