David Bouchier


David began as a print journalist in London and taught at a British university for almost twenty years. After coming to the United States in 1986 he continued to teach and to publish a regular humor column in The New York Times regional edition.  He joined WSHU as a weekly commentator in 1992, becoming host of Sunday Matinee in 1996. His latest book of essays, Peripheral Vision, was published in 2011. His other books include A Few Well Chosen Words, The Song of Suburbia, The Cats and the Water Bottles, The Accidental Immigrant and Writer at Work. He lives in Stony Brook, New York with his wife who is a professor at Stony Brook University, and two un-musical cats.

There's no emergency like a water emergency. It brings out our most primitive fears. We inevitably think about Noah's flood and the final deluge. When water runs out of control indoors, we have the worst kind of domestic crisis. When the plumbing fails, we panic.

It was 60 years ago that I bought my first motorcycle, and it felt like a liberation. For many years after that I rode a series of unsteady and unreliable machines all over Europe, and somehow survived. In the end I bowed to family pressure and common sense and bought a car. But my last motorcycle, a splendid and powerful machine called Triumph Trophy, lingered in my mind. Sometimes I imagined that it was still lurking in the back of the garage under a tarpaulin, and that I could bring it out for one last ride. Motorcycles have that effect on some people.

Summers used to last forever. It’s a cliché, so it must be true. People of a certain age can actually remember those endless summers, which were abolished sometime in the early 1960s. Our modern summers are much shorter, and much busier. Labor Day seems to arrive almost immediately after Memorial Day, and most of us are exhausted by the time we get here.

One of our first stops when we arrive back in the United States is always the local pharmacy. We want to be prepared for anything. We have been in France, which is rich in pharmacies of a sort. There are some 22,000 of them, each one marked with an illuminated green sign, and they have a virtual monopoly on the sale of medicines, all the way down to aspirin. If you are familiar with American pharmacies, the French version looks and feels like an entirely different kind of business.

Our long vacation in Europe is coming to an end, and it has been a luxury and a treat. A luxury because, having retired from almost everything except life itself, we can sometimes afford to be away for several weeks at a time, and a treat because the only real vacation is a long one. The memories we bring back are the main thing, and it takes time to build up good memories.