It’s called the passage of time. Missing things not because you value them, but because they have always been there. Friday saw the very last of Alistair Cooke’s Letter from America.
Which leads me to another of my occasional Greater Mancunian series. Cooke was born in Salford, the son of an iron-fitter Methodist lay preacher, although he grew up in Blackpool. He tossed aside his humble beginnings after winning a scholarship to Cambridge, kicking over the traces of his given name Alfred, Alistair being more in keeping with the aesthete image he aspired to. Read more ›››