Quite what my parents or grandparents would have made of modern Britain is beyond me.
Here's a Magritte-type image to go with my short poem for St Valentine's Day.
V.
The Valentine you sent last year
was much appreciated, dear,
but when the date comes round again
to someone else a card please pen.
For romance and a lover’s vow,
alas, would be unwelcome now.
The things that once attracted you
have been replaced by features, new.
No more, the silken peach-like cheek,
the blushing, feminine mystique,
no more nail polish, coiffeured hair,
chic gowns that left my shoulders bare,
no more red lipstick, no more slap,
for I’ve transitioned. I’m a chap.
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