Rock-climbing? Sounds exciting but I was the worst rock-climber I knew and never pushed the limits, never risked much.
Repairing radio gear in Singapore? All I can see are the restraints of communal life in the RAF - the need to co-exist with others, most of whom I'd have ignored as civilians.
Seeking work in the USA as a married man with one small child? The idea was adventurous but the planning was meticulous; things went very smoothly. And there was central heating.
Deciding to find out, very late in life, whether I could write? Hell, what else? Herbaceous borders?
Just once I tip-toed on to the edges of a new old world. In the West Virginian Panhandle the roads had grass in the middle, then became dirt tracks. We passed wooden hovels with forty-year-old car shells for garden ornaments. People watched speculatively from their stoops as if guessing what we'd taste like. Suppose we break down? VR asked. Then we were back on the expressway.
Adventure? Pretty dull really.
Rookhope stands in a pleasant place,If the false thieves wad let it be,
But away they steal our goods apace,
And ever an ill death may they dee!
It's almost a year now. I failed to listen to Joe's poetic voice for most of his life. Now when I’m faced with poetry I apply myself, unguided, often in confusion. The last line above is a curse which makes me smile. Would Joe approve? He was never vindictive. I have no way of knowing.