Memories

 I love Google. I just asked it a fairly inane question. I'm not going to say what it was, as it was actually more than 'fairly inane' - 'embarrassingly stupid' would be a more accurate description really.

Anyway, instead of giving me an answer, Google led me, comfortingly, ('don't worry dear, there are one or two others out there, who are nearly as foolish as you'), to some even more idiotic questions: 'What is that thing called under the hood of the car', 'Why can't I get married until 60 days after my divorce in Alabama' and 'What's that rock song that goes, "Something, something, something, something"?'

I think that last one proves that Samuel Beckett was above all a realist. Nowadays, of course Winnie in Happy Days wouldn't need to ask the audience, 'What is it, that unforgettable line?' She could turn to the Internet, the removable hard drive default memory of the connected world.

(PS I've just been pointed in the direction of a whole collection of other idiots' questions here .)