Pasta

I was looking at a delicious bowl of mushroom pasta in white wine sauce the other day. And as I reduced the contents of that bowl to as close to nothing as I could manage, I couldn't help but form associations between what I was doing and what I am doing.

Looking at the historical past is a bit like dealing with that bowl of pasta. The pasta is a bunch of intertwined strands, all looking very similar. Somewhere in there are the juicy bits. You consume those strands, occasionally teasing out a particular strand which seems unexpectedly and unmanageably long. You savour the juicy bits. You taste the sauce in which these strands are embedded, realising that in some ways, this amorphous liquid adds to the texture of the strands, and the enjoyment with which you consume them.

It is a magnificent repast. And when it is gone, you remember it, and realise that there are many bowls of pasta out there, waiting to be enjoyed and emptied of their glorious contents, all different, and yet all the same in some past-oral way. It is a wonderful pastime to have.