The Lammas Fair has come and gone. Yesterday evening, Felicity and I walked around and amongst it, fingers sticky with candy floss and gawking at the swinging rides that brought passengers precariously close to the buildings on South Street. I went out to buy lunch today and Market Street had returned to normal (though, before I could go through the passageway of 66, I first had to gain admission from two water-pistol-wielding guerilla fighters. I was clearly a neutral party, and twice their size, and thus was unharmed).
Last night Felicity and walked down onto the beach in the dark to watch the Perseid meteor shower. The tide was out and we spread out towels, squinting upward through the haze that was drifting in from the sea. We saw a two UFOs, which turned out to be RAF jets coming into the nearby base. We also saw a total of three meteors: two small ones and a spectacular, firey golden-silver streak of light. “Falling stars—that means they’re dying!” Felicity exclaimed with some horror. “Not dying! Coming down to earth, turning into something else,” I answered. Then I realized that falling stars could be falling angels (my dissertation is 80% about Satan after all) and immediately quoted—because that book has ruined me, thanks Kelly1—“Crowley, an angel that did not so much fall as saunter vaguely downwards.”
It has been a while (“Arkadia”, in April), so I feel justified in announcing that I beat Kelly at chess. 12 August 2009, “The Aedificium”.
Now, to possibly finish my word count for today.
1 It really has. My notes on the Antichrist plays are peppered with Good Omens references, including “sushi vengeance”. And yesterday I saw the potted plants outside College Gate and burst out laughing. Thankfully I was alone in 666. …Oh dear, I’m doomed.