I was nervous that he wouldn’t like it – and might get grumpy at the thought of going to Veeraswamy’s Restaurant on Swallow Street, the site of our first date 61 and 1/2 years ago. Veeraswarmy’s has been tucked into this little street, changing ever so slightly but ever so cleverly in style and food for its 99 years and remains the leader in Haute cuisine of Indian food. I need not have worried: he was happy and relaxed as we sipped their modern day cocktails, a Wimbledon Pimms for him, and Kir Royal for me while we enjoyed reading the menu.

“We sat over there,” we remembered, smiling while looking at the little table tucked in a corner while thinking back on that time. And that we had returned for Walter’s 60th birthday party. Now is is just us again, and he is 82. 

Though we were dining early, the restaurant was filling up. A younger couple was seated beside us and as we smiled at each other I blurted out – because that is what I do – that we had our first date here 61 years ago and we were here for my husband’s Birthday. “Us too” the woman replied. We were both dressed specially for this evening out for our menfolk. She wore a black fitting maxi dress with an assortment of gold necklaces. Her diamonds were expensive and this evening was her treat to him. After our meals were eaten both tables were served with the obligatory delicious chocolate birthday deserts.  We smiled again. 

“How old are you?” I asked, 

“40” He replied and I looked at him again.

“Where are you from?” 

“From Florida. She’s on a work trip.” (Not ‘my wife’ but ‘she’.) And again because I truly can’t help it – I laughed and said:

“Florida, I could never go to Florida, the alligators frighten me.” And then even before I had finished speaking, my awareness shifted and my prejudices immediately leapt into my imagination – they are from ‘that’ Florida and ‘She’ is on a reconnaissance trip for the American invasion that is about to happen this summer. I felt my heart freeze. The birthday gentlemen finished their chocolate cake with just the smallest help from the wives. As the last forkful was finished she learnt over to me and said, 

“Can I ask you?” Of course, “We have a two-year old at home and apart from Paddington Bear what else could I bring her?” Ah, now I was on home Granny ground and launched into the thrills of “Ant and Bee,” showing her the books on her phone. And even as I explained:

“They are different, but friends, you see.” I wondered if that idea would sit comfortably with her – different but friends. The conversation quickly went to families, they are both from large families with lots of siblings, and were worried about raising an only child. She was hungry for any knowledge she could gleam from this obviously comfortable English Granny – who was also wearing the appropriate amount of bling. I told her which bookshops she could go to and even brought up.

‘Harvesting History while Farming the Flats’ on her phone before wondering if that might not be the wisest thing to have done.

They were staying in Mayfair which helped confirm my imagination of them here to prepare for the American political invasion that is coming to England this summer. 

The American President starts his trip in Scotland where security will try to preclude the Mexican marching band that greeted him on his golf course a few years ago.

Meanwhile ‘Me too Me too’ cries JD Vance who does’t want to be left at home to take care of America and has taken a holiday home in Chipping Norton for his family and a month long summer break. But who is minding the shop, if DT is in Scotland before spending two nights at Windsor Castle -a stiff nightcap whiskey or two will be needed that weekend – and JD is in the Cotswolds? Security is going to be tight, there will be grumbling down at the pub and it is quite possible that more than one antique Ford Major tractor will trundle along spitting manure off of their tire tracks in front of the large black SUV’s that will incur scratches if they are not careful on those narrow country lanes. This is not going to be a happy time. What of the hidden politicians who take refuge in the Cotswolds? Will David Cameron have JD over for drinks, even Nigel Farrage? Will Boris lumber up from Oxford bringing his brood with him? It doesn’t look good. The country lanes are not the only pathways going to be blocked. 

All this on top of June’s embarrassment when a handful of pro-Palestinian activists popped through a preexisting hole in the chain-link fence surrounding the Oxfordshire airbase and sprayed two RAF military planes with red paint. The Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer, said it was “disgraceful” and an “act of vandalism”.

Well of course it was. But whose grace was disrespected while the planes remained in working order? Not Palestine’s. Quickly a law was written and passed that support of the Palestine Action organization was now an act of terrorism.

So where does that leave someone like Mill Valley’s John the Waving Man from 2008, and now England’s 83-year-old Reverend Sue Parfitt, and Laura Murton.

Nightly we see pale gruel, with a few floating vegetables scooped from big metal vats into small plastic containers held by old men, women and children while sacks of flour are hoisted onto the backs of young men just still strong enough to carry them as they scurry away zig zagging trying to avoid the bullets fired in panicked fear by young Israeli boy soldiers.

‘Please,’ begs one minister in Parliament ‘Can we acknowledge a Palestinian state while there is still a state to acknowledge?’ Last month, Emmanuel Macron addressed the English Parliament saying again that a two state solution was the only way to build stability in the region. It is unbelievable  and heartbreaking that resistance still comes from the British government, though cracks are beginning in the less-united labour party. The UK foreign secretary, David Lammy, told the BBC that he felt appalled and sickened by the scenes of starving Palestinians being shot as they sought food.

“We said we wanted to be part of a process. But we have had no process. What we have had is mayhem and conflict. There has been no process to attach that recognition to.” The Newsnight numbers of dead are now given twofold: those killed by the shootings, and those dying of starvation.

This morning ants are coming into the kitchen through the open window. They have finished their meal of nasturtium-clinging aphids and are searching for fresh compost for dessert. A stray buddlia plant is blooming in the parking lot and a dozen or more butterflies are enjoying its nectar while the bees harvest from our fuchsia blossoms. As I prepare a breakfast of applesauce made with early windfalls from a friend’s country garden, I bow my head in gratitude and sorrow understanding that no windfall is falling yet on Palestine and its people.

This has been A Letter from A. Broad written and Read for you by Muriel Murch.

As always, supported by murchstudio.