An English In Kentucky


















Thursday January 17th 2019Tim Candler9


     It was in the kitchen of one of those young people fashionable restaurants, the kind where the wait staff all thought they were either the splitting image of one of the Ramones, Suzi Quatro or at a pinch Debbie Harry. We're talking the 1970's when I already felt old and working there made me feel even older in that mature and sneering, superior kind of way.  A Keith Richards wanna be, his name was Penrose, was one of the waiters who so got on my nerves it soon became very apparent to fellow kitchen staff who, while rolling a cigarette out back in the ally, would express concern for my mental well being, general attitude and job prospects. And it's true all of us kitchen hands were basically deemed too ugly, old or unfashionable to even be seen by the clientele. As well I was bottom man on the greasy pole, which is how most in the culinary arts think of the dishwasher. So, should I ever make the error of seeking psychiatric assistance there may well be dozens of reasons why Penrose got on my nerves . 



     The tragic thing is Penrose is also the name of a mathematician with incredibly interesting views on the possible relationship between consciousness and quantum physics, his wise question in the early 1990's was why no exploration of consciousness from mathematics? But such has been the lasting impression made upon me by Penrose, the Keith Richards wanna be, that despite having had several opportunities I've never been able to open a book by anyone called Penrose. It's pathetic, it's tragic, a sad commentary on your correspondent's capacity to be reasonable. Nor has Penrose been the only one, there's the obvious unmentionable name that rhymes with hump, then there's Descartes with his useless 'therefore', anything associated with a Mill, there's Jane Austin, does go on a bit. More recently I read the dreadful news that Queen Elizabeth II's oldest male child has positive thoughts about Leonard Cohen, which for me when it comes to the names Leonard and Cohen could well be the the ultimate Camel's back breaking straw. And is why I'll be forced to never again even consider pausing over the meaning of Cohen's several mentions of traveling blind in his really very beautiful poem, Suzanne.

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