The Better Part Of Valour

 Political insults are like artillery rounds. You lob one at your neighbour and you're going to get the same thing back. What you're not going to do is bring them round to your way of thinking.

Which is the more plausible response?

A."You just called the leader I trust a corrupt old fart so clearly your leader has better policies and I'm going to apply to join your party tout de suite..."

Or

B. "That shell which demolished our trench and obliterated half my mates has convinced me your Kaiser has right on his side so this afternoon I plan to stroll across No Man's Land and ask your kapitan if I can exchange my flat tin hat for a pickelgraube."

I had the opportunity to get into a political word fight this morning- and perhaps I provoked it just a little bit- because flirting with danger is  fun- but now I've stepped away- and if trouble comes after me I'll step away some more.

Odd

 We drove along the coast to Bexhill.

"O look, the sea!"

"Yes, it's the very same sea we have at home. In fact, what with currents and waves and all that sort of thing it could be the very same water."

In the past when we've visited a seaside town our starting point was inland. Driving from one seaside town to another felt odd.

Another thing that felt odd was having a conversation with a woman in Hailsham and her asking if I lived in Hailsham and me saying I lived in Eastbourne. It was perhaps the first time I've actually made that declaration- and I felt smug about it- and as if I ought to be given  a gold star.