Oedipus Wrecked!

Hobbling around with my damaged foot, but resolute in my conviction that I had had enough resting, I made my weekly Sunday pilgrimage to town. A tall mocha with a good book marks a particular Sunday highlight for me and I didn't want to miss it.

I have finally taken up "Nineteen Eighty-Four". It's been on my shelf now for years, I even brought it with me to Europe, but am only now giving it a plunge. I suppose my experience reading "Brave New World" many years back always put me off - I was very disappointed with that - and they both seem to be lumped in the same category, or said in hushed, reverential tones using the same breath. That and the fact that everyone knows the Orwell's storyline very, very well made me put off reading it until now. Silly me, heh? What's so frightening is not so much that it is believeable, but it has actually come to pass. While on the tour of the East Berlin prison Phil and I visited, the guide repeatedly made comparisons to Orwell's book. The Stasi certainly seem to have used it as some sort of blueprint. The ingrained paranoia, the sense that your every action was being scutinised and that you yourself should scrutinise your every action, seems to have been part of everyday life for East Germany. Very readable too.

At around 15.00, while reading and drinking coffee, I got a call from Jules. He, Justin and Killian were in Conway's and would I join them. They had been to a party the night before and were keeping the drinking going. I had a turkey dinner with the family to go to and "Pan's Labyrinth" was later so I was determined not to get sucked into a session. I arrived at 15.15 and already they had at least three hours behind them. That and the party ending late into the morning made the three of them very drunk when I arrived. As I came through the door I gave the customary nod to Dan, who was sipping a drink in his pub as usual. Jules was just coming to the bar and he unusually struck me as in a bad way, though when I saw the other two I realised Jules was the soberest of the lot. Justin, wearing a St Patrick's hat and green beard, was drifting in and out of consciousness, giving a little dig to Killian whenever awake. Killian, having avoided the party, was not too bad, but nevertheless had the bleary eyed look he adopts when drunk. More than ever I was determined to head home for dinner after at most two pints. That I did. I resisted the snakebites too and stuck to Guinness, though I wasn't too impressed with the new North Star brew. Shieldsy arrived just as I was preparing to go. He had been to Paris the weekend before for Jane's birthday and had been hearthily impressed. It would have been good to talk some more, but dinner was calling and drink was the way to damnation!