Too much haystack, too few needles.
And there are also times when I agree completely with W.G. Sebald (via):
[O]n bad days you don't trust yourself, either in your first or your second language, and so you feel like a complete halfwit.
I will hopefully stop feeling this way sometime soon and get back to pestering you with over-long diatribes about something or other.
In the meantime two things occur to me.
First, I am relieved to note that the urban apocalypse that was predicted in some quarters should Boris Johnson become Mayor of London has not yet made itself apparent. Don't get me wrong, I don't like the guy or anything, but the city seems to be grinding along in its typically shambolic way with no more than the usual amount of social strife and cannibalism. I hope that continues to be so.
Secondly, I realised a day or so ago that I have been staying around the corner from 'The best Indian food in the UK', at least according to Justin Hawkins, singer in the now sadly defunct rock band The Darkness.
There's Justin and his mates now, on a sign outside Red Rose Tandoori:
I can't testify to the quality of the food, as I've not yet eaten there. At the same time, I'm doubtful of the culinary authority one should grant a glam-rock band.
Still, they do know a thing or two about rock and roll.
It's been a long week.
Back home tomorrow.