So it’s all official now. The Moon drives us mad. I could have told them years ago. Forget the romance, string orchestras and soft moonlight.
My dear departed always went a trifle dippy at the Full Moon. I used to keep a small amount of a cash in a vase to bail him out from the local lockup and sometimes I let him sit in the cell all night if I were a tad cranky. And, to tell the truth, it was a pleasant relief to get a little rest from his endless stories of fighting the Japanese. I would have kicked him in the orchestra stalls myself if I weren’t such a lady.
In 18th-century England, a murderer could plead lunacy if the crime were committed at the time of the full moon. I wish I had known that.