From London

No post yesterday. In London for PBS meeting, then meeting C and the children in a bar in South Kensington, going on to an Indian meal, staying there till gone 11. A mild night. London full of people young enough to be my children. It is a curious thought. H and R thinking of moving to Norwich, where it is cheaper and civilised and within reach of prospective grandparents, ie us.

While I am in the meeting G20 has, it appears, sorted out the world, shares are up, crisis over. I can practically see the trillions of currency flowing across the sky and settling back in vaults and pockets. See! It was as easy as that! Er....

As someone wrote, let us call him Philip Larkin for the sake of argument:

...I listen to money singing. It's like looking down
From long French windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad
In the evening sun. It is intensely sad.


Well yes, that is part of it. Sad. The respectable lower middle class in its despair and disorientation. But there are other prospects. Orson Welles in a huge breakfast room. Belloc's garden party where 'The poor came in their Fords / The rich in their Rolls-Royces'. The backyards in Doré and Jerrold's views of London.

Let them eat cake. The guillotine.