What am I searching for? Am I looking for a book?  Am I looking for the key? Am I searching for the salt? There’s always something isn’t there? A teaspoon. An address. The divine. Maybe. Or the sex thing. Walking along the seafront. The clickidy-clackedy machinery of desire.

But that’s a digression, isn’t it?

Anyone fancy winding up an orange?

Where’s the key gone?