MANY OF you have written in saying: "Dear Mr O'Neill, In recent weeks, you've written moving and authoritative articles on Proust's biscuits, hypnotism, prog rock drumming, hobbit houses, and the heat engendered by curries.

But what we’d really like to know is this: What’s your take on the current situation in the Middle East?”

Crivvens, that’s an interesting question, and it will discombobulate you to know that I’ve been giving the matter some thought. I’ll rephrase that sentence, as it contains a lie. To be more specifically truthful, I’ve been thinking about Iran. Never having been further east than Prestonpans myself, I’m not entirely clear if Iran is in the Middle East, or the Upper or Lower.

Certainly, Israel’s name usually comes up in the context of the Middle East, and it’s worried by Iran. Credible reports by top experts suggest the leading loonocracy may be developing a nuclear bomb. This is grim news. Iran denies the claims, but its relationship to truth is traditionally tangential.

When I read of the latest developments, it struck me that we’ve largely forgotten about The Bomb. The fear it once fomented was a permanent psychological backdrop to my early adulthood. It began when the school film club showed The War Game, by Peter Watkins. A recently retired air cadet, I expected a stirring tale featuring the Blitz spirit.

The film depicts what happens when a nuclear bomb strikes. I don’t expect it’s stood the test of time but, back then (around 1973), it knocked me sideways. I walked home alone through a dark park, my spirits blitzed, my mind filled with the horrors I’d just seen. I barely slept a wink that night.

Next day at school, everyone who’d seen the film looked pale. That pallor enveloped my mind for years to come until, one day, I noticed it had gone. The defeat of Communism helped, given that no-one was pointing missiles at us any more.

But, recently, the fear has crept back. We go about our daily business in a haze, fretting and too afraid to spend, while the means to destroy us bides its time, waiting to fall into a demented dictator’s hands. That wee Iranian fella who doesn’t wear a tie pretty much fits the DD spec.

Selfishly, and certainly without stating it, we figure that perhaps the next nuclear strike might be localised to a few million poor souls far away. Nothing to do with us. But many unbalanced people don’t like Britain for some reason. If they aim at us and we aim at them, and somebody’s finger slips, then we need fret no more. For we will be fried.

Fortunately, in my waters, I feel it isn’t going to happen. Yet. Thoughts of war tend to pop up at this time of year, when we remember the dead from conflicts past. These wars were termed “conventional”, but nuclear war is predicated on something that ought to be against the rules: the mass killing of civilians.

In a sense, there’s nothing new in that. Genghis Khan exterminated millions, and all he had was a pitchfork and a funny hat. But, according to my watch, we’re living in the 21st century now, and surely it must be possible for the nations of the world – even the loopy ones – to rule out harming civilians.

Even Scotland’s great victory against Nazi Germany was tarnished by carpet-bombing. And, obviously, when I say Scotland I’m not forgetting other parts of the UK who also contributed to the war effort. I hate to say it (because obviously victory was good and necessary) but the carpet-bombing of cities was a terrible business.

Still, we can’t change anything now, nor go back and uninvent nuclear weapons. My suggestion that future wars should be fought by countries fielding their neds against each other has been ignored by the international authorities, probably because Scotland would have such a numerical advantage.

I’m not even clear if Iran has neds. Possibly, they hang them from cranes, so you can’t say it’s all bad there. But if Iran has nukes, I fear the thought of extinction may return to haunt our heads.