NOT the word I would have chosen...

Just after the New Year, a book stall at my local shopping centre closed down.  Which was probably not entirely a bad thing.

I loved that shop.  She stocked an electic range of books and I often bought several books at a time, and bought something most weeks.  No will power - or at least not where books or plants are concerned.  Her prices were always good, and the closing down sale had some most excellent bargains.  So I went the rats and bought many, many books. 

One of them was this one.

A memoir.  I do like memoirs, diaries, biographies and autobiographies.  Stanley Johnson sounded like an interesting man, who leads a rich and varied life.  His curriculum vitae includes exploration, travel, writing (poetry, fiction and non-fiction) and training as a spy. 

I was right.  He is an excellent story teller and I thoroughly enjoyed reading about his world.  However, I had some early doubts.  On the first page he describes his mother as 'by nature an optimist' and goes on to give an anecdote which he believes illustrates this quality.

'She was always ready to look on the bright side of life.  I remember being woken by her one night when I was about four years old.  My father was a pilot in the RAF during the war and we were living in a little cottage near the runway at Chivenor in North Devon where his squadron was posted.

"Look, darling!  Come quickly!"  She hustled me to the window.  "There is a wonderful bonfire on the runway?  A plane has crashed and, quite soon the depth charges will explode!"

I can't remember where the depth charges did explode that night....'

No, I wouldn't describe that as optimism.  Flakiness?  Space cadetship? 

What do you think?

And, the next day they found out it was her husband's plane which had crashed.  He survived (which naturally she assumed he would) but was badly injured.