First John Updike left us, and now John Hughes. Both in their own, magisterial ways, chroniclers of certain slices of Americana: Updike, his characters freighted with gloom, secrets, mysteries often to themselves, let alone others, scurrying through the quiet and shade of anonymous suburban America streets in and out of worrisome relationships; whilst, for Hughes, his province was a territory of exuberant, gently rebellious young High Schoolers cocking an affectionate snook to their elders.

Neither artists will ever fade away. In the decades to come, (I'm sure of this, by the way), people will settle on Sunday afternoons to watch a John Hughes with the reverence and anticipation the way millions have already with Ealing Comedies.

It'll be the same with Updike; his canon is too large to be spiked. I'm sure in a century's time there'll be people on tubes, in buses, in their privacy of their living rooms, cracking opne something by Updike. Too good not to.