Quality

About a week ago, the Spectre told me that the old place would receive the nation's highest award. He was grimly ironic in his humour. He said, "Boyo, this is how it works. We create awards, so we have to give them to somebody. And even if we know what's missing, we can't reveal that we know, or the whole trick falls apart. But remember what the little Corsican said — 'On appelle ça des hochets, je sais, on l'a dit déjà. Et bien, j'ai répondu que c'est avec des hochets que l'on mène les hommes.' — it is with such baubles that men are led."

The investigations required for award of the Légion_d'Honneur are a lot more comprehensive than those for other awards. But the principle is the same. Sometimes, as the Spectre said, you have to give out these things. Some are given for honour, and that is good. Some are given for quality — for a generic array of qualia — and that is just vague.

As someone who used to stand behind the barbed wire and listen to odd and unsettling morning devotionals, I know exactly what qualia are looked for and what their substance is. I have manufactured enough of it before. The Spectre smiled and I smiled back. There was not enough for laughter, but certainly enough for humour.