Funfare for the Common Man

Back in the day when this blog had more stories of adventure and hijinks, I had no shortage of tales to tell. These days, my ideas are more of the philosophical rumination variety. And summer is a time that is meant for travel and adventure, right? I’m at home now, visiting my family in America, and although it is indeed a holiday/vacation, I still long for a bit of peaceful time away from everybody, away from it all, alone with some books, daily walks to improve my constitution and some time for writing inspiration; 6 weeks on Lake Como would do nicely – I don’t know why, but I’ve always dreamt about Lake Como. I know that sounds contradictory, sort of: I don’t long for time on my own so that I have tales to tell, so that I can get myself into all sorts of sticky mishaps – literal and figurative. I long for peace and quiet, time to reflect, think and write with a clear head. At home, you don’t get that. Family duties, projects to be done outside the house (taking advantage ...

‘I can understand that people want to feel special and important and so on, but that self-obsession seems a bit pathetic somehow. Not being able to accept that you’re just this collection of cells, intelligent to whatever degree, capable of feeling emotion to whatever degree, for a limited amount of time and so on, on this tiny rock orbiting this not particularly important sun in one of just 400m galaxies, and whatever other levels of reality there might be via something like brane-theory [of multiple dimensions]…really, it’s not about you.’ Iain Banks, in his final Guardian interview, published 15 June 2013 ‘I have more than once in my time woken up feeling like death.’ Christopher Hitchens, ‘Mortality’ This will, no doubt, soon turn into a bit of the theatre of absurd. I’m not that old, but I always feel it. Hypochondria also runs in the family blood, mainly from my father’s side. The slightest niggle or pain, and we’re suddenly dying....