Free Second Intention by Anthony Venner Page B

that Simplifly is the best of the budget airlines to go with, and their website certainly tries to make booking a flight a painless experience. The prices were actually pretty good, but what surprised me most was the difference in the cost of flying out on Friday rather than Thursday. It was another thirty-six pounds a head, the result, I suppose, of the simple law of supply and demand in operation. Everybody wanting a weekend away in Copenhagen would have largely filled the Friday flight, whilst the one the previous day would be mostly empty.
    Phil also pointed out that the prices go up a lot the nearer you get to the departure date, which is why I had hoped to get an answer from Douglas that day. I only hoped that they weren’t going to hike the fares too much in the following twenty-four hours.
    The less we had to spend on getting to Copenhagen, the more we had to spend once we were there.

Seven
     
    Sue was very perky when she finally got in that Monday night, at well past ten. It was some time since I had seen her that animated about anything, and I was pleased to see it, but also a little puzzled. I had no idea fine art could be that exciting.
    I thought about it quite a bit as I drove to work the next morning. Was it a sign that her condition was lightening up? Was she just excited about the exhibition? Or maybe it was the prospect of a long weekend in an exciting city like Copenhagen?
    Whatever. It was good to see, and it brightened my day.
    It was a day which needed brightening, too. An angry wind was blowing sleet in from the East, and the forecast said we could expect several more days of it. The news on the radio was all doom and gloom, and our neighbour’s cat had left muddy footprints right across the roof of the car, which I had only washed three days before. Even Ely wasn’t looking its usual, beautiful self.
    As I passed through the outskirts of the city I saw a disturbing bit of graffiti on a wall, some kid with a sick imagination having sprayed the image of a clown ’s face, its mouth twisted into a nasty sneer, and its eyes malevolent. It was simple, and yet alarming, and I was astonished by it. What sort of person would corrupt a cheerful concept like a clown and turn it into something so full of menace?
    Just what the hell was the world coming to?
    Maybe I’m just getting old, but it’s beginning to worry me, the path society seems to be taking. People are less tolerant, less patient, and much more cynical than they used to be. Every day I turn on the TV and see that the dumbing down is getting even worse - it seems that nobody can make a programme nowadays without it having to involve the audience texting in votes to affect the outcome. And then there are programmes which seem to glorify rudeness, or trampling on the self esteem of “losers”. What sort of message is it all sending out to young people? Whatever happened to the good old days of quality drama and intellectual debate?
    When I was a kid we used to watch Top of the Pops as a whole family, and my mum would always sit and sigh, as MC Hammer or Betty Boo would appear. ‘Oh dear,’ she would say, a distinct note of disapproval in her voice, ‘this does make me feel very old.’  My sister and I thought it was so unhip, we vowed we would never turn out like that.
    We we re completely wrong, of course.
     
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    It was three thirty by the time I finally got hold of Douglas, who was on his way between meetings.
    ‘ Ah, yes,’ he said, after I’d reminded him about my request, which he seemed to have completely forgotten. ‘I was going to find out what Madrid were up to, wasn’t I?’
    ‘ Mmmm.’ I tried not to let my irritation show. ‘I don’t mean to nag, but I’d like to be able to get it all booked, and the longer I leave it, the more it’s going to cost.’
    ‘ Sure, sure,’ he nodded, and began flicking