The evening I met Oscar Wilde (interlude)
Bemused by Baroque at City Hall, Cardiff There are limits to Time Travel - so they say. At least in terms of physics and what have you. . . so this is as good as it gets. And as bad, as I'll explain. I was reminded of the occasion by this week's gaff celebre in UK politics. Courtesy of prospective Prime Minister Liz Truss. After her speech about leading the nation (and so on) - Mrs. Truss proved unable to exit the press gathering without basic supervision. Or at least that was the social media narrative, 'no more of a clue than Boris Johnson'. Only worse: being clueless beyond the scope of her chosen style! Anyway not to dwell on politics. For Quentin Crisp has declared that activity "the art of making the inevitable appear to be a matter of wise human choice." And besides, Lizz Truss's modest meander implied no more than a touch of ADD (of which it takes a master practitioner to know a novice). So back to my encounter with Oscar. . . when his Trials w