Walking down Oxford Street in the morning peak, one is accompanied by coffee junkies. That essential heart-starter, that kick in the solar-plexus as only caffeine can. The craving wears off during the day, returning late in the evening, whilst sprawled on the sofa with a brittle dark chocolate, open at page 183 of the latest page-turner.
As I lay sprawled last evening, the book limp, I mulled over a line heard peripherally, one that resonates and insistently niggles at the consciousness and the conscience. ‘Corrosive aimlessness’ lodged in my brain as relevant to my life and the lives of others. The full quote was ‘without work comes corrosive aimlessness’. This, of course, is a plug-compatible expression, redolent of that Sussan advert ‘this goes with that’. One could substitute endlessly: without work comes penury; without god comes corrosive aimlessness; without love comes loneliness. To each his own rhapsody on the theme.