It was a privilege this week to breakfast in the same room as Battle of Britain veterans en route to a ceremony near Oxford involving Spitfires and a new flying training school — the finer details of the event escape me. It was impossible not to eavesdrop on their conversations — moral failing though that is — and their views on Churchill were not quite the hagiographic history presented in nearby Blenheim where you are spoilt for choice of family heroes (and where the villains and ne'ers-do-well are glossed over).
All this took place in Woodstock, a town which, in managing no-cost car parking, excellent bus services, clean streets, fine pubs, artisan shops, only one small supermarket (the Co-op, of course), and the total absence of chain stores, must be doing something right in relation to some aspects of sustainability (depending on your perspective, of course).
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