David Bouchier

David Bouchier’s weekly essays are full of unexpected observations and whimsical opinions. Listeners will relish his entertaining, enlightening, and sometimes exasperated commentaries on the routines that carry us through the year, the surreal rituals of politics, the unsettling experience of foreign travel, and the confusions and comedies of everyday suburban life.

When I walked into the local hardware store on a lovely sunny day last week I found myself facing not only a grisly display of plastic witches, cobwebs and pumpkins, but an even more depressing heap of ice scrapers, anti-freeze and salt. The main aisle was half blocked by a snow blower, some snow shovels were lurking in the distance, and there was a special offer on driveway markers to help you find your way back to your own house when the snow is too deep for normal navigation. Global warming has made no impression on the hardware business.

David Bouchier: Go West, Young Man

Oct 12, 2015

At a time when millions of people are on the move from Africa and the Middle East, hoping to find new lives and new opportunities in Europe, it is worth remembering that Christopher Columbus too was a migrant, and probably an unwelcome one. The people of the Americas were not pleased to see him, and even less pleased to see the hordes of European migrants who followed in his footsteps.

It takes a lot to get English people really upset. But the organizers of a vegetable show in an English village managed it when they agreed to allow contestants to enter produce that they had not grown, but instead purchased at the local supermarket. This was considered an outrage and a violation of all the laws of fair play and honest competition. The whole point of such shows is to reward the skill and dedication of the grower who produces the fattest marrow or the longest carrot. There’s no glory at all in simply buying something.

We stopped in England for a few days, in a village where we used to live – just across the street from our former house, in fact. How strange it was to wake up in a place that was once so familiar. I could lie in bed and listen to the village coming to life in the morning. The clatter of the postman's bicycle against the brick wall, the thump of the morning papers through the door, the antique Austin car owned by the woman next door starting up, with a painful wheezing noise, the clang of milk bottles, two neighbors discussing the latest scandal in the Royal Family.

You may have missed the fact that tomorrow, Sept. 15, is "Respect for the Aged" Day, but only in Japan. When I saw this in my calendar of useless dates, my first thought was that we could use some Respect for the Aged here in America. A good start would be to begin calling us "aged," or even "old" instead of that irritating term "seniors." The notion of seniority gets us off on the wrong foot, suggesting the overweening power wielded by "senior" members of Congress, for example. "Old" is a statement of fact: "senior" is a claim to authority.

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