My friend talks of too much Pilsner, of vats of ‘becalmed’ French Red as a surrogate, a crutch, after the (mild) excesses of Berlin. I feel it more acute than ever: a general desire to accomplish something but a feeling of looking through a gauze mesh at a faded to-do list. I look at what I have to do and add up the differences it will make. All that effort, to what end? It speaks volumes when I make a cup of tea as a displacement activity.
They are arguing over the trains. They are proposing a windfall tax on the rich. An article on one rich person fails to notice there are plenty of unjustly rich people in the UK. What do I want to do with what it is that I want?