"On these magic shores children at play are forever beaching their coracles.
We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf,
though we shall land no more."
J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan, 1911
For the supposedly grown-ups, these sunny and occasionally snowy 48 hours brought not only echoes from the Darlings' mansion right off Kensington Gardens and the Neverland, but also (perhaps more than) its fair share of Ani DiFranco through the headphones.
More importantly, through this season's customary numbness (and dumbness) of the media, one could barely read (and mostly on the British side only) about the departure of Harold Pinter, not only one of the last literary giants of his generation, but also one to stir much-needed controversy about US foreign "policy" when awarded the Nobel Prize just two years ago. For his plays, his clear thinking, his highest integrity and yes, also for making us feel a bit lonelier on his departure, we thank him.
On a lighter note, as I was varioulsy pondering over the last few days "What Can You Get a Wookiee for Christmas (When He Already Owns a Comb?)", certainly being sympathetic with hairy fictional space creatures but even more so with our less lucky earth-bound brothers, I thought I'd put aside a little something for these nice folks
and it'd be great if you could spare a buck/euro/quid yourself (along with a thought or two, which never hurts) during sales season.
You take care...
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