Authentic and original. Both meanings of those words being heavily corrupted. Yet another trendy place with a new-fangled old-fashioned twist. We are here again. I wonder if there is any milage in nostalgia for the previous nostalgic crazes? The Young-Fogies, The Beatles as Edwardians, should we hark back to the ‘original’ or the harkers-back themselves?
And what’s so wrong with long beards and heavy iron roasting machines? Well, nothing of course. What is worse, perhaps, is demanding authenticity in inauthentic traditions. We gaze with wonder, or incredulity, at any British Royal event, be it coronation, wedding, birth or funeral, and yet those who love or loathe rarely know how modern these ‘timeless’ and ‘immortal’ traditions are, most of them dreamt up by Prince Albert.
Last night I dreamt that Cliff Richard had grown a very long, very straight, grey moustache. A blessed relief, in fact, from my now traditional dream, which untraditionally reflects all too accurately life itself. How very uncool.
Today I wrote between 21:41 and 22:51. I was prompted by an idea here.
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