fortunes of war

 

Aunty Mary breezed in to her house with her sister Anne.

They found me hunched over the computer, munching scones and writing a poem.

"James is here Anne," said Aunty Mary mischieviously. "You can have a nice chat about Israel."

Aunty Anne, a veteran of pro Palestinian marches, wrinkled up her nose with strange high disdain,

"I cannot stand that man," she rasped.

Her words pressaged possible difficulties for me in accessing free computers and buns at this household in the near future.

Aunty Mary and I both looked at her a bit surprised.

"Not James," explained Aunty Anne, "I mean Netanyahu, the Prime Minister of Israel."

"It's the same thing Anne," I chided gently.