The wheel turns and nobody knows where it goes.
ON Anzac Day in the post-prandial fug of cigar smoke in the Vapours Room of The Elderly Diggers’ Club, conversation turned predictably to national defence.
Colonel Cedric Wyldebore-Smythe extracted a Romeo y Julietta No 2 from the humidor, snipped the end before lighting it on the brandy warmer and settling into a leather armchair redolent of old bodies and older campaigns.
“The government has held another defence review,” he remarked as casually as one might say power bills have gone up again.
Dozing fitfully, Major Godfrey Hanbury-Sparrow startled suddenly, commenting, “We’ve already had one!
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