Vale Magnus
In a tiny corner of this world, there are no bombs, no secret prisons with torture chambers, no sectarian murders, nothing of that sort unless you are answering questions about them, those impossibly distant things that cannot infringe on a world made of warm crumpets and tea and the sound of ball on bat. It is a real sadness that that corner of the world is becoming ever smaller, a tinier part of the maelstrom dedicated to simple fellowship, the warmth of being together. The only torturer in that small world was Magnus Magnusson (the mild tickling of Call my bluff does not count). Would that we had a world of a million Magnuses, always finishing what they started, fair and kindly.
posted by Dr Zen @ 7:02 pm
1 Comments:
Too right. Some of us also held a place for him in our hearts because he helped make Knowing Stuff once more worthwhile. No matter how much of a nerd you were (I wonder how much of a nerd you were: my specialist subject would have been the Jennings and Derbyshire novels of Anthony Buckeridge, beat that) you knew there was always Magnus who would respect you even if no-one else did. Humphries, well, least said about that the better.
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