Today I have been profligate with time. I spent some making a vegetable curry and, while the pot filled the kitchen with its perfume, I spent some more looking at pieces of writing which I have shared with you, and then spent even more of that precious time adding to the sum of the point of this post.
Reminiscences of food and drink have a disproportionately large representation in my memory. The taste of the first sip from a glass of fine wine, the scent of a fresh peach or the intensity of a piece of dark chocolate do not lose their potency with the passage of time and may even, on occasion, be improved by a passing memory. Rereading one’s own words does not afford the same pleasure.
One particular piece drew my attention in which, in splenetic mood, I foresaw the disaster that would be the London Olympics Games. With all the omens of doom that surrounded the conception of that event I felt that in my condemnation I was on to a reasonable winner, which illustrates that being an oracle is no sinecure: to be a sage you need to know your onions.