‘The Dogs they had a party …’

The Warden

Alan Bennett defined a classic as a book everyone is assumed to have read and often thinks he has – an idea that found similar expression in the game of humiliation in David Lodge’s Changing Places. In essence, the game requires one player to name a book which he has not read but assumes others have, and scores a point for everyone who has read it; so begins the conflict between a desire to win and the reality of self-humiliation through revelation of cultural ignorance. It is an entertaining game and certainly good for any high-brow dinner-party guests.

So as a starter for 10, I must confess that I have never read Proust. His great [and for my tastes a rather thick-looking] work À la recherche du temps perdu has never graced my night table and is unlikely ever to do so. However, this would not stop me having a go at discussing at some length the intricate nature of its singulative and iterative narrative, and how one can simply become lost in the weaving complexity of memory; the simple taste of a madeleine transports the narrator to a moment in his youth when he enjoyed a similar spongy delicacy.

Despite my lack of direct familiarity with Proust, I have repeatedly had moments of involuntary memory of late. This has not been triggered by any comestible but rather the myriad of on-line meetings and lessons in which I have participated and observed. At each point that I become a member in ‘Gallery View’, I am transported back to my youth and collection of MB Board Games and, in particular, Guess Who.

Just for a moment, my attention wanders and I cannot help myself from trying to decide which of my fellow Zoom-mates or Google Meet participants most resembles Bernard, Maria, Franz, or Anita.

Indeed, I have taken to scoring the quality of the meeting by the number of lookalikes I am able to identify. The highest score yet achieved is 12/24.

Curious consequences of our current incarceration are that on-line communication removes much of our body language, a vehicle for transmitting many signals useful to interpretation and one must rely largely and solely on the words and tone of voice used. This requires serious attention. Secondly, without the opportunity to bump into people, pass others in corridors, stand behind people in the luncheon queue, one is robbed of incidental moments of conversation, resulting in much of my daily interaction taking on a deliberate and outcome-driven nature, so unlike my usual discourse. It is ultimately a small pain in the context of what is happening, but I look forward to the return of the chance encounter and who knows what memories it might kindle?

The Dog

Curious things have been afoot for a while now; as we amble along, when I take Himself out for exercise, and we see someone coming toward us, we then do an about turn in the wag of a tail and head off in a different direction. Not only does this recall the deathly dull days of my puppyhood carrying out drill every day and spending endless hours only ever turning right, but it also prevents any customary canine greetings. While I have now largely introduced myself to the other inhabitants of the Patch, this is fundamentally antisocial and goes against my canine rights.

I’ve tried whistling Mr McGinn’s fine song but the hint is going unnoticed.

My current act of protest is to wait until unobserved in one of the distanced conversations, and then give a sudden jolt when it is least expected – the resultant irritation and look of ire make it all worthwhile. # RAD [see earlier blog].