My late mum grew up in Farnham in Surrey with her parents - my grandad, Sidney Ernest Lord; my nan, Gertrude Irene (nee) Roberts; and her brother, my uncle Alwyn - a welsh name because Gertrude Irene hailed from the valleys. In the early forties, they were joined by "David". I never met him, didn't know his surname nor anything else about him, except that he was something called an 'evacuee'. He was one of thousands of young Londoners who endured the sad trauma of leaving their parents but were blessed with the kindness of folks like my grand-parents and a far greater chance of survival. My mum and my dad, who grew up in Aldershot, remember watching the Battle of Britain - not in the cinema like me, but "live" in the skies over the Home Counties. Not for them, however, the terror of the Blitz, just a few miles north. And, lucky for him, not for David either. Another world, another time - tonight captured wonderfully by Phil, courtesy of some brilliant pictures from our friends at the Imperial War Museum.
Then, courtesy of our friends at City Hall, a slightly reheated story but with a dash of sauce... yet another attempt to ban those smutty cards in phone boxes that offer the dubious charms of Miss Fifi Lamour among other curiosities. Kit Malthouse, who used to run Westminster and tried the same then, has relaunched his mission to purge BT's red boxes of naughtiness and is now using the 2012 Games as his bit of leverage. He says visiting Americans, trying to make a call, will think they've walked into a sex shop. My fear is they'll think they've walked into a public loo but that is grounds for a different "clean-up" campaign. Anyway, Glen reaches up and rips off the offending ads.
These cards are often distributed by teenagers with nothing but naughty intent upon their minds and time upon their hands. Cricket is the answer. Pad up, pad up and play the game. It will, apparently, clear our streets of drug-selling, gun-toting, steaming feral youth. Not too sure about that but if anyone can persuade me it is Nick "middle and leg" Thatcher.
Ben eschews the cricket pitch for the swimming pool and has spent a delightful afternoon with one of our premier paralympians. But no sweet pussy-cat her: she is a serial gold medalist, out for even more. Hope she gave Ben a head start.
Last night Little Boots talked about the return of the Stylophone. Tonight Julian Peretta re-raises the profile of the kazoo. Fans of BBC Radio 4's "Sorry I haven't a clue" will know it never went away but perhaps we are a dwindling population.
Julian is a new star, it seems - a child, to some degree, of the internet, chatroom, blog world of the electronic 21st century. Odd, then, that he goes for a kazoo. Odd, or even ironic. I like that. Sophia, well versed in greek tragedy, will introduce you to Mr P.
And that, I think, is that. Just checking. Ah, yes. Chrissie with the weather. Now last time I looked, it was looking good. So bank that, if you are a pessimist, or go for double or quits with her at the end of the show.
Some papers which may be city-wide or local - depends on the quality of their front-pages. And, if time permits, some more of the evacuees... I'll speak quickly to try and make time, as will the elegant and lovely Lucy.
We both look forward to your company at 6.
Alastair and Lucy
