Television is often described as being an all pervasive anathema, or words to that effect. A mindless, brain-decaying medium radiating social and cultural disintegration. The authenticity and motive of much TV content is endlessly debated and complained about and commented on. Every one has a gripe it seems!

Yet what about considering it from another angle - TV as a friend. Granted, it doesn’t quite fit the bill of a classic pal; it won’t make you a cuppa and wax on about the sports scores and yesterday’s weather, (well at least not in quite the same way!) But let’s take another look at our little square friend that sits in the corner and cheerfully entertains 24/7.

(a) Unlike some friends of the human persuasion, TVs can expound on a variety of topics and change subjects on cue.

(b) They can be turned down if ranting noise levels become unbearable. What other friend comes with a volume remote control?

(c) Their company is available whenever needed. No sleep or toilet breaks required!

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I always wondered what it would be like to live in Cornwall in the fourteenth or fifteenth centuries. The craggy landscape and the sparsely populated villages must have been the perfect setting for conspiracy and piracy. It can’t have had quite the romanticised feel as it does today; in fact I am sure that the adventures of the gypsies of the high seas resembled less the film Pirates of the Caribbean and more Pentonville prison on a boat.

Nevertheless piracy in those days must have been a rather exciting affair. The world was a much bigger place than it is now and the sea was a fantastic escape for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t live an honest living. A free for all watery adventure with the risk of shipwreck and fighting to the death…more extreme thievery than burglars today could even imagine.

I can only guess what the Cornwall and Devon tourist information of the day would advise the holiday-makers visiting from the cities. “Wear neutral colours, leave jewellery at home and look out for men with wooden legs and/or pet parrots.” Maybe holidaymakers planned their Cornwall holiday around searching for loot instead of surf life-saving; and grog may have been the drink of choice as opposed to ale.

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We grew up in the 1940’s and ’50’s on a small dairy and chicken farm in Belfast, Maine. ‘We’ being my two brothers and three cousins. Times there were hard. Farming in those days, as I suspect it is now, was an austere life. Lots of hard work with little compensation. I think the people who bought our milk and chickens made the money. The small farmer seldom benefited then and I doubt they are doing much better today.

There wasn’t a lot of money for extras or store - bought things especially sweets like cookies, cakes, or pies. Things that kids love. Not to worry. We were blessed to have as our aunt one of the finest - maybe THE finest - bakers of such things as there was in the ‘kind old state’ of Maine if not the entire New England area.

Aunt Ruth baked all of our pastries. She labored in a hot kitchen with an antiquated cook stove year round. She baked an assortment of goodies, but cookies were her specialty although her cakes were not to be discounted. She baked cakes for all occasions including every birthday for each kid. We chose the cake we wanted and Aunt Ruth made it for us with our name on it - decorating done by hand. My favorite was her chocolate cake with vanilla frosting.

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Apparently, sometime between the time I got out of high school and now, Drivers Education has changed dramatically. I can make this unfounded assumption by simply observing all of the “nuts” on the road.

Let’s go back to the beginning. Back to where I learned how to drive. I can still remember Drivers Ed. and Mr. Dooley, a boys gym teacher, teaching us how to drive. I never quite got the connection of how a gym teacher was qualified to teach us how to drive. I mean, we were supposed to put our lives into this man’s hands? The same man whose only job was to make sure we didn’t wear our athletic supporters on our heads? What did he know about K-Turns? He’s also the guy who taught health class. How could he teach us how to merge into traffic when he just spent six weeks explaining why hair was going to be growing out of our ears when we turned forty?

There was quite a mixed grille in our car which included me, Tom Chivone, the captain of our football team, a guy who should have spent more time wearing all of his safety gear at practice, Leonard Elliot (Egghead Extraordinaire), who would tell you the square root of four trillion without asking him, and Mary McNultey, the most beautiful girl in our school and the one voted by the guys in our class as the girl with which we would most likely want to parallel park.

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