Godot’s Weight

I really haven’t felt like blogging for a few days. No, that’s not strictly true, I simply have nothing to say, no particularly favourable wind to set sail by, no firm opinion to hold, no ground upon which one can stand with confidence. It’s as if I’m waiting, like Vladimir and Estragon, for something to happen or someone, but not Godot, to arrive. Plenty, I suppose, of weighty things to think about, whether Abbas’ pre-emptive speech in Ramallah on Wednesday will turn the Arab world a notch or two on the wheel of fortune or whether the Israelis have a counterpunch which carries sufficient weight, given the alarmingly rapid deterioration in diplomatic cosiness between them and their southwestern neighbours over the hill. Whether the world will allow an entire country, the birthplace of democracy, to go bankrupt and grown men will be seen weeping on the steps of the Acropolis. 

Giving thanks at Eden Park

Whether the Fighting Irish could hold back the Australian behemoth at Eden Park today – against all odds they did – and in some style. Fair play to yis, lads. and no tempers lost. I wonder if the unexpected, the fortuitous, the serendipitous, Lady Luck, the Goddess of Fortune or whoever else cares to masquerade as an oracle of the unexpected will turn a favourable card this week. I do hope so. 

Social interaction, Tokyo

In the meantime, I await Haruki Murakami’s epic novel 1Q84 which is ‘poised to take the West by storm’. On his website one reads this lyric…’In a place far away from anyone or anywhere, I drifted off for a moment.’ A Japanese Arthur Koestler, perhaps, a postmodern, post-Marxist voice for a forlorn, connected urban generation without direction.

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