|What I'm trying to get at, if you'd only let me, is the point. It's not the one in front of your face or even the one you've worked for so long and so hard. Can you imagine it, there behind your head? No you've turned and its gone, look, there, no gone again. Gone again. Always gone again by the time you get to look, a space where there was a hint, just the slightest possibility of meaning. Its like the time you were walking through East Belfast at 10 am on a Sunday morning after a heavy session of Jack Daniel's with your uncle. It was at the bottom of the Woodstock Road and the last thing that you expected was a group of spides to throw stones at you, shouting strangely "get back to Wooodstock you hippy bastard". You walked a bit quicker and only now you realise the poison. For you were there already, if only thirty years later, half a world away and with the vicious for company.