The other day, I found myself in a quandary. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Then I realised I was actually in a quarry, and everything was as it should be.
***
I don't remember the last time I had some lime cordial. There are some things that were really prevalent in my youth that I don't see much of now.
Jam jars. They were ten-a-penny in the halcyon late-eighties. That reminds me of that joke.
Q: When is a door not a door?
A: When our interpretation of the world, rather than being a definite system of concrete facts, is merely one of millions of possible attempts to weave sensory information into a coherent narrative. The door is in essence nothing but a collection of matter and energy, lacking identity, until we assign it a name and perceive it as a distinct whole.
or
A: To get to the other side
With jokes, unlike sandwiches, the old ones are the best.
As well as jam jars, there were a lot more shoeboxes. I suppose shifting foot-size made my shoe turnover much higher as a child. I remember trying to build a shoebox lair for my Ninja Turtle figures. I don't remember the last time I saw a shoebox. Or a Ninja Turtle.
Maybe people have been boxing up jam jars and lime cordial, and burying them in the Blue Peter garden so that future generations can really understand what life was like in 1989.
Conversely, there are things around now that never seemed to exist when I was a child. Pesto. Aubergines. Sambuca.
They must have been around - just outside my sphere of interest. My sphere of interest was pretty small in 1989: about the size of a cricket ball. It mainly consisted of fruit preserves and crime-fighting mutants.
Now my sphere of interest is a mighty pulsating orb - the size of a moon - crackling with energy and possibility. A big, swollen globe.
You'd think I'd be going some where with this. And yet, here I am, trailing off...
