I was listening to a programme on Radio 4 this afternoon which concluded with the final chapter from The House at Pooh Corner (Chapter 10. In which Christopher Robin and Pooh come to an enchanted place, and we leave them there) the piece was read by a person other than the presenter, because the man presenting the show said that the last time he had tried to read it in public he had cried. Which warning I should have heeded and turned the stereo off.
As the words reached me, I remembered how much they spoke to me of childhood long forgotten and I wept. Bawled my eyes out, actually. Which was a tad inconvenient, as I was driving at the time. How I managed to stay on the road and not cause an accident is beyond me.
It's amazing the things that can trigger a lachrymose moment, often without warning and frequently to the discomfort of those around me.
Is it a peculiarly British thing to get embarrassed when others display strong emotions?
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