Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes …

… Tintern Abbey by Anthony Daniels - The New Criterion.

Further to reduce the sublimity of one’s thoughts, there is the car park that takes up one side of the Abbey grounds. I shouldn’t complain, perhaps, because I myself had come by car, though if the car park had been located a mile away instead of being immediately adjacent to the Abbey I should have been happy to walk, but it was all the others who had come by car that I really objected to. And I am afraid that, against all my principles and better judgment, I entered after lunch the kitsch gift shop in front of the Abbey and bought some Tintern Abbey fudge, both rum raisin and what was called “classic,” and ate too much of it too quickly, feeling slightly sick immediately afterwards. My only excuse was that the bag it came in did not warn me in advance that eating too much fudge too quickly could make you feel sick: though frankness compels me also to admit that this was not the first time in my life that such a thing had happened to me. I am, alas, a modern man, not very different from my peers.