The average American rises at dawn, swallows a couple of Dexedrine tablets and a stack of pancakes, climbs in his monster car and hits the freeway, dashes to his dictaphone for an hour or two, is sharply out at noon for two double martinis and a steak, dashes back to his car and the freeway, another brace of martinis, another steak, a game of poker, a stretch at the telly, a quick trip on LSD, a couple of seconals and a fitful sleep.
A clearly sarcastic Alistair Cooke.
He spent his whole life breaking stereotypes, and through radio, his little evening chats flew all the way from America to London to my Dad’s car radio on our long rural roads on the far side of Australia.
