The Smithsons were...

Everything is back to normal, I can sip Stella, buy second hand tweed jackets and replace my £4 reading glasses with £250 reading glasses that look just the same. It is necessary to look ready for action in this world, and I'm doing my best. I'm ready, the academic year is on my doorstep; turn up the Foos and take a deep breath. After audio starvation in Berlin, I can only play one track at a time on my hairy system - all addictions are a question of dosage.

But sometimes academic life is actually a very beautiful thing, for amongst many resubmissions to be read at this time of year, I sat captivated in my lounge chair with a dissertation resubmission so pugnacious, vitriolic and above all accurate and well researched (what's more written like a rocket) that I worried my optician would smell my glugged enthusiasm as I sped through it (after all opticians get very very close!). Basically, this student had the balls to say the Smithsons were cunts (not exactly cunts..) This is a kind of heroism we see very little, I emailed the student immediately, and said; 'treasure this work and read it again when you are forty'. I sprang down the street, got sprung for £250 straight away at the opticians, retreated to 'the Trench', stroked Patch the cat who didn't give a damn, like she ever does. Smiled to myself.