On the whole I don’t care what people think of me. Which is not as arrogant as it sounds. My mother once asked “Where do you take your chutzpah from?” To this day I don’t know. It’s some sort of well which has threatened to dry up once or twice to be restored by those who have faith in me AND, oh the irony, by same chutzpah itself.
As an interlude: If, one more time and as I just did, I will write an intro only to forget – second paragraph in – what made me throw myself on the page in the first place I shall fire myself. Which is no hardship since I don’t pay myself even a pittance.
Yes, so, when, and it’s a BIG if, my thought comes back to me I shall continue. Sunday afternoons being peculiarly pensive. Talking of pensive: The Angel thinks I have too much time to think. And he is right. Marx, Orwell, Hitler and the ancient Greek would agree. Give people bread and games. Harmony. They’ll believe anything. Give people time and an empty stomach and you might as well crank up a guillotine to stifle the next revolution.
To my American readers hard felt wishes: May you not do what the Niagara Falls have done by all accounts: Freeze over. Stay warm, stay sweet, remember it’s Sunday afternoon and I still haven’t taken my beloved Christmas decorations down. In fact: Why bother? Soon it’ll be Christmas. Again. Chocolate Easter Eggs in the shops already.