It's funny the speed with which the warmth of human kindness tends to dissipate when you're standing in the overlong queue for the cashier at the Giant Supermarket at IMM. We've had a very good day today, featuring a splendid nosh-up at Nahar & Norharyati's in the company of Mei & Boon, and I had just enjoyed a most palatable plate of prata accompanied by a fine rather large cup of teh tarik, yet after just five minutes or so in the aforementioned queue I'd had enough. And this despite having my copy of The Plague Dogs with me and being able to read a paragraph or two.
I suppose that might have made things worse. I'd got to a fine set piece description of the terrain at the heart of the Lake District and found myself pining for just a bit of that solitude. It's a terrible thing to say, but I couldn't help think of D.H. Lawrence at his most impressively fascist in his lovely poem on the Mountain Lion when he's contemplating the pleasures of culling our over-populated species. I knew exactly how he felt.
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