Then He Gave Her A Kiss On

The Golden Age Of Luncheon Vouchers Ended Ten Yearsago. For Ten Years Mickey Had Been Saying, "the Goldenage Of Luncheon Vouchers Is Over." And That's What Archieloved About O'connell's. Everything Was Remembered,nothing Was Lost. History Was Never Revised Orreinterpreted, Adapted Or Whitewashed. It Was As Solid Andas Simple As The Encrusted Egg On The Clock.

I Read Carver. Julio Cortázar. Amis's Essays. Baldwin. Lorrie Moore. Capote. Saramago. Larkin. Wodehouse. Anything, Anything At All, That Doesn't Sound Like Me.

This Because It Is Never Really Very Cold In England. It Is Drizzly, And The Wind Will Blow; Hail Happens, And There Is A Breed Of Tuesday In January In Which Time Creeps And No Light Comes And The Air Is Full Of Water And Nobody Really Loves Anybody, But Still A Decent Jumper And A Waxen Jacket Lined With Wool Is Sufficient For Every Weather England's Got To Give.

Sometimes, One Wants To Have The Illusion That One Is Making Ones Own Life, Out Of Ones Own Resources.

...despite All This, It Is Still Hard To Admit That There Is No One More English Than The Indian, No One More Indian Than The English. There Are Still Young White Men Who Are Angry About That; Who Will Roll Out At Closing Time Into The Poorly Lit Streets With A Kitchen Knife Wrapped In A Tight Fist. But It Makes An Immigrant Laugh To Hear The Fears Of The Nationalist, Scared Of Infection, Penetration, Miscegenation, When This Is Small Fry, Peanuts, Compared To What The Immigrant Fears - Dissolution, Disappearance.