Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.
What we don’t want to do, however, is examine the paralysis this fantasy has plunged us into.
While I’ve no truck with nirvana, I am a true believer in the power of deep absorption into the spirit of a place.
It’s not a great restaurant, but that doesn’t bother me, because the important thing about Joe Allen in Covent Garden is that it is pretty much unchanged since it first opened in the late 1970s.
Surely I ought to help this man – but what would even two or three days of my assistance really do?
Raclette, cheesy crackers, baguettes – even ice-cream is just cheese in waiting.
“So many,” as Eliot might well have said, “who would’ve thought life would’ve untucked so many?”
In Tesco, I was struck by the presence of a paella ready-meal in the chiller cabinet.
Brixton is currently at number one on the gentrification hit list, and so on go the tags – covering everything from the tables to the lampshades.
If the past is another country, it’s one the boundaries of which are ever shifting, as entire features dissolve in the blue haze of partial amnesia.
It's my policy, though, to argue about it. Or at least ask for "Hitler" on my coffee cup.
No country has ever left the EU before, so there's no map for where we're going.
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