And now, on the day after the 29th of March no longer has the Old Testament ring about it, having been honed by The Dame into part of her mantra for the past two years it has been dropped by her without a tear in her eye: "ah, but she has a purview," explains Timothy Michaelmas-Daisy to the oily dihydrogen monoxide as the outgoing tide lowers the river level and Tim has moved down a dozen steps: "she has truly and honestly, conscientiously and devoutly fought the Christian fight, on behalf of England and her people . . . . ." but "ahem," the cough caught him in mid flow and he wasn't surprised, on glancing over his shoulder, to see the Old Man, much better dressed now. standing there and regarding him: "come on down, Mr Everyman – I've always wanted to say that – you find me now engaged upon the Retreat from Moscow, or evacuation of the US Embassy in Saigon," but he is interrupted: "oh, come on now Tim, no-one's died – although that's strictly not true now, is it? there was Jo Cox and a number of less well-known folk whose murders were at least designated as Hate Crimes, but not on the scale of either Napoleon's or Hitler's armies breaking on the Russian Winters or even Nixon's failure to beat a few dozen people who fought wearing only black pyjamas;" he produced the bottle and paper cups and this time Tim found himself sipping Laphraoigh rather contentedly, and puffing on the cigarettes the Old Man had produced from the pockets of a coat that wouldn't have given much change out of £500, "she really wasn't up to, or should it be down to, the way those fellows can haggle and niffer, but they likely take it in with their mothers' milk," and the Old Man sat down carefully, and spoke softly: "just bein a wee bit racist, ur ye there, Tim, me ould bhoy? - ah, see how easily it can creep up on ye, until it's the blanket that keeps ye warm at night, or the chain-mail that doesn't let an arrow through to pierce yer skin, an keeps it nicely pink-white an blue!" said the Old Man and there it was, just that edge to his voice, which sent synonyms running up and down Tim's spine and playing an arpeggio on his conscience!