A hitch in times...
Derek Faulkner recently posted (on his excellent Letters from Sheppey blog ) about his hitching days back in the mid-1960s. This is an attribute of 'folk culture' that has all but disappeared. In today's nervous climate, where every being that doesn't conform or fails to toe the acceptable line is consigned to the status of 'murderer' or 'terrorist', such activity as sticking a thumb out to solicit a lift from a passing vehicle is as rare as a Wallcreeper (couldn't resist yet another mention...). As Derek's post charmingly illustrates, it wasn't always this way. In my brief twitching days back in the late 70s, I was not unfamiliar with the odd hitch to a twitch and the accompanying sleeping rough. Being a bit of a wimp I preferred not to do it, but circumstance forced me to do so now and again. Not all ended successfully - a Friday night attempt to get to Illfracombe to catch a ferry to Lundy (June 1979, Ruppell's Warbler) found me stan...