December 2, 2012
Gosh, I can’t tell you how lucky you were not to have been brought up in the Delingpole family. There were nine of us in all — not counting the cats, iguanas, fleas, lice and one-eyed pugs — and the scene every day in the rambling Old Rectory where we lived was like the second half of Lord of the Flies only without the restraint, civility and gentle charm.
It was a dog-eat-dog world where no quarter was given and none expected. It was like Florence in the era of the Medici (only without the culture and art part: unless you count the huge mural of Judge Death my brother Dick did in his bedroom) — an era of constantly shifting alliances, betrayal, backstabbing, torture, humiliation and perpetual war. It made me the hardened street-fighter I am today….
….As I was reminded only last weekend when we held a rare full-family reunion to celebrate my baby brother Charlie’s 30th birthday.
(to read more, click here)
- Who is Lieutenant Dick Coward of Coward at the Bridge?
- I hate weddings; funerals are almost invariably better in every way
- Delingpole: not just for the nasty things in life
- Farewell, Knights of Delingpole – and thank you, trolls
2 thoughts on “Back in the Delingpole fold”
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