In search of lost time in East Oxford
When the writer Marcel Proust ate a madeleine as an adult and ducked it in his tea, suddenly a whole moment of his childhood came back. Apparently it wasn’t a madeleine in the first drafts of his BIG novel (In Search of Lost Time), but toasted bread. Never mind, the madeleine and/or the bread did the job, the past came rushing back as if it were in the present. There was a bit of that when J. and I went to hear Sharron Kraus at the Port Mahon last Tuesday. I say I went to hear Sharron but there were two other set of musicians there I had not hear before: Sara Wolff and Helen Pearson and I loved listening to them all. A great evening of lovely music organised by Divine Schism. But yes, there was definitely something spooky going on yesterday. Because I was quite early coming to town from Abingdon, I decided to walk all the way down the High street from the centre and as I approached Magdalen College, and saw how many people were squeezed on the pavement, I reme...