He has a point, although, to be fair, I did mention this at the beginning, when I called Proust a ponce. I wonder if he thought I meant nonce, not ponce? Too late now. And this isn’t an argument about 1984; it’s about sun and air. And suffocation.
18th Feb – Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel.
In a world which celebrates marriage at first sight, and the televised sharing of STDs between teenagers, this sounds like Kenneth Clarke's Civilisation to me.
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