Although it is the horrific events in Virginia that gave rise to this column's subject, I am not of a mind to indulge the rant that I am choking on, like bile burning my throat.

Lots of other writers and commentators will rave on about violence being shoved down the throat of us all and the fact that most entertainment for young people is based on violence; that killing anything that moves is not only encouraged as an endless pastime, but is also presented as the exclusive source of fun.

No, I do not need to say all that for so many others will and it is anyway self-evident. So...

A very dear friend of mine in the United Kingdom owns a gun shop. In many ways, this is quite abhorrent to me, as the whole business of arms on any level seems to me very much the same as dealing with dangerous mental illness. However, he is a very dear friend and he does have many other virtues. Plus, he has never gone out with a gun to commit a crime but uses them for hunting (and that is for another day), target practice and all that.

Patricia's father, John, owns several guns, is interested in guns and so forth. Once he and I went to Joe's gun shop so that I could kill off one of Joe's targets with a gun. Being a woman, I naturally circled and hit the bulls' eye. Most men acknowledge that woman are better shots than men, anyway...

One Christmas, after Patricia, Patrick, our dog Zen and I had moved to Canada, John came for a visit to spend the holiday with us. While he was here, he wanted to go down to Niagara Falls, U.S.A., to see his sister, Margaret, and her family, whom he had not seen for many years.

Off we went, then, with Patricia and her friend, Lisa.

As we crossed into the States, I parked by a bank for him to cash some travellers' cheques and I told him: "Be sure you get some change for a pay telephone, because Canadian money absolutely will not work here,"

He doubted me. "Are you sure?" he said. "The quarters are the same size."

"Listen," I advised him. "Only things American are any good in America. Get some change - Canadian coins will not work here."

Of course, he didn't believe me. He didn't bother about the change, convinced he knew better and when he went to use a telephone with a Canadian quarter, he came back to the car with a silly expression on his face.

Actually, I was a bit put out at his ludicrous obstinacy.

Finally, he managed to contact his sister, pushing a good old American two-bits into the telephone's slot and we went to see her.

She took us to her son's house, where he was just dashing out with his son to go to hockey. Had a visit with his wife, talking about their old times while Patricia and Lisa ran around with the other children in the house.

Later, Margaret came back to the hotel where she and John enjoyed drinking Scotch and reminiscing until late into the night while I snoozed. All extremely well and good.

The following day, we started off for home but before we left the States, John wanted to check into a gun shop just to ask about prices and possible shipment overseas. I did not give him any advice.

We were driving along a street in Niagara Falls, U.S.A., when John called out to stop, because he had just caught sight of a sign over a shop door that read: "Ed's Gun shop".

"I'll only be a minute," he told me, leaping excitedly out of the vehicle.

Yet again, I knew better. First of all, John has never "only been a minute" on any errand he ever ran and secondly, just wait, I thought, until he gets chatting with Ed. It will be worth my patience.

So, I sat idly in the car, listening to the radio, exchanging quips with the girls and waiting. After about 20 minutes, John came out of Ed's Gun Shop. His face was red and bent with anger.

He got into the car, slammed the door shut and spluttered: "He called me an alien. Started right off my asking me about my accent. He said, 'Hey, you ain't American, is you?' I said, of course not, I'm British. So, he told me he couldn't tell me anything about guns in the States because I'm a bleedin' alien! I told him I had a license in the U.K. and I only wanted to ask about prices and he said, 'that don't mean nothin' here. If you ain't American, I can't tell you nothin' about guns.' And the rotten blighter wouldn't give me a price list or say what sort of guns he had - or anything!"

I laughed until my whole body ached; I laughed so hard, I had to pull over.

That Ed became one of my favourite people in Niagara Falls, U.S.A, with such a splendid vindication as he had delivered.

I nearly put him on my Christmas card list.