They call it progress here in the states, not sure what you call it in the UK, but I can't help but wonder. But old men like me have always wondered about it. I'm just glad I experienced the wildness and silence of the countryside; the sweetness of the air, the meadows without all that cement to carry the automobiles. The tropical beaches all too soon turned into high-priced slums where thousand-room hotels elbow each other for glimpses of once-famous surf not because those who loved the beaches wanted them there but because enormous jets could bring a million tourists every year—and therefore did. Still, those young, beautiful ladies with just enough clothes on to keep your mind young is some compensation.