Mind At The End Of Its Tether is the title of H G Wells's last book. Kent University says that everyone should be called 'they', until their preferred pronoun is known, Jean told me this morning. We have to get out of this fucking dump of a town. Oh, to work for the Education Authority, and have at least one child at the Royal School. My poor neighbour: bedraggled Armagh flag drooping limply in the front garden baseball cap (of the genus Mickey Harte), usually worn at jaunty, upturned, we-own-being-Irish angle, now pulled down over despairing eyes his grief-stricken children plodding grimly off to school to sigh with their chums his cats given no quarter and brusquely dismissed from our garden because they bully an aging Miss Lotte Lenya. The 'Orchard County' GAA team (GAA is Irish for 'wanker') had gone down in defeat to Kerry. Returning home, however, more great news awaited. I said to him, Pluto is only a dwarf planet now, but at least it's back. Its orbit crosses inside of Neptune's for 20 years out of every 248 years, and last crossed inside Neptune's orbit on February 7, 1979, and temporarily became the 8th planet from the Sun.Ī man passed by. Last time we were here, Pluto had been stolen. That's how big it is compared to Neptune next door. If you look carefully, south of Miss Lotte Lenya's bum (see photograph) you can see Pluto. We are in Armagh Planetarium's Solar System garden. Next time: why Van Morrison peaked just before he formed Them. As an Artist Bob peaked with John Wesley Harding (1967) thereafter, if he continued to grow, it was only as a singer-songwriter and performer. Having time to kill, and probably because my degree is in Philosophy, I'm finally able to answer that one. Even the biggest one of all: how come His Royal Bobness is a towering genius in the history of music, when he hasn't, in fact, made a decent album since 1967. I chew over fundamental existential questions. well, head to A&E and ask for a transfusion of intelligence. Not shallow stuff like why are we here? how should we live? where are we going? Any corner boy will fill you in there - if you're too dim to realise your mother gave birth, you shouldn't dog folk around and, and you ain't going nowhere. But I still strive to square circles and recover the satellites.
Heidegger, Nietzsche, Sartre and Camus are gone.
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