Last week, I went down to London for the day. How refreshing to be away from here!
I bought a few books and walked all over the place (strolling along the South bank of the Thames on a weekday morning is utterly marvellous).
I had dinner with my mom and my uncle in the Stockpot on Old 'Straight Outta' Compton street (anyone who lives in the capital but hasn't eaten there needs to put this right). A little earlier, I'd found myself standing in Piccadilly Circus talking over the crowd to my mother about the plot of Mulholland Drive. Unfortunately I could only remember how the story supposedly unfolds, but I don't remember why.
That rascal Socrates was right when he said in the Meno that true opinions "run away from a man's mind, so they are not worth much until you tether them by working out the reason."
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