Who first declared that nothing counts a lot and very little counts at all? The cynic and sesquipedalian Alastair Forbes claimed it, but he spoke with a forked tongue. Iris Murdoch hinted that it was hers, but she, too, was known for bending it. It doesn’t really matter because the saying is utter crap. A hell of a lot counts, starting with the fine line between mad love and pure madness. No, don’t be alarmed, I will not go into yet another reverie about Jessica-Jenny, as my friend John Sutin has finally come to the rescue by pledging he will do something about it.
Incidentally, this last weekend was like the lost weekend of movie fame, with yet another Mick Flick extravaganza that ended late at night, followed by a Sutin oyster and caviar lunch on the terrace of the Palace during which I thought I saw a Nero-like figure strumming a harp.
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