It's my USB stick that I'm talking about. I was teaching at the LSE the other night and the computer equipment there seems to be a little old-fashioned. The USB port is right down at the bottom under a flap, at an angle of about 80 degrees. Know the kind of set-up I mean? Very difficult to get it in. And I should have taken much more care when it came to removing it. Instead of delicately extracting it vertically, I wrenched it horizontally. It now has a kink. If I have time in the next couple of days, I'll see if I can take a photo to show you.
I've now studied the Special Constable poster in more detail (see blogs passim ) and can reveal the idea is even more complex and bizarre than I first thought. You'll recall that a Special is on some seedy looking street corner, just yards away from where a drug deal is in progress. He's keenly observing events and looks ready to take some kind of action. The copy says that Specials wear uniform and always have back-up. But this guy is on his own in plain clothes. Worrying. Perhaps he's off duty but just can't leave the policing thing alone? Once a part-time copper, always a part-time copper. But wait. There is back up. It comes in the form of the constable's own reflection in a puddle. If he took his eyes off the criminal activity for just a second and took the trouble to look down at his feet, he'd see that in Puddle Land, he is wearing a uniform and carrying a radio. There's enough material here to fill a semiotics seminar for a day. If I disco...
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