The Key To Time.

Anthropology One of my ongoing pre-occupations is why I have these interests, why I connect to the visual arts and history in various forms rather than sport or music or stand-up comedy or literary fiction. Some of its nurturing, school, college that sort of thing. But why is it that I'd dread an Ibiza holiday rather than spending a week visiting museums.

 The Observer decided to test theory in the style of Holiday Showdown, with Eva Wiseman and Emma John swapping their preferred destinations, the former sent into Bronte country, the latter to a Spanish island.

This pull quote probably expresses, unsurprisingly which "team" I'm on:
"When Kate and I finally force ourselves into position in front of the DJ, there's no room to do anything but jut our chins to the beat. I look at the blissed-out tribe around us, nodding their heads in agreement with the synthetic beeps and drones, and imagine myself transported like them. I'm trying to enjoy myself, I really am – at one stage Kate insists that I fold my arms, because my attempt to throw shapes is embarrassing her – but instead of losing myself to the music, it assaults my senses like a sugar headache; instead of feeling part of some throbbing, mystic whole, I've never been more acutely aware of the ache in the small of my back or the sharp tang of blisters on the balls of my feet."
At which point in the article I said out loud, yes, exactly.  I'm the opposite of Randal in Kevin Smith's Clerks.  I like people but I hate gatherings.  That's probably ironic too.

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