Whither thou goest...

Whither goest thou America, in thy shiny car in the night?

Last night MissMarketcrash had a kind of Jack Kerouac dream - perhaps you know the type - vivid colors, a bit of a sweat, the works.  And, the dream took the form of a stageplay. The play featured a girl named Val who was sitting in a car, sunglasses on, mute.  The driver was a man who kept talking and talking whilst Val's face would suffer very imperceptible tremors, though she remained silent.  Her mouth was slightly open and, at times, her lip quivered.  Her silence was an all-knowing despair type of silence, and, the man was going on and on about life in a really interesting philosophical fashion with pauses in places so we could study Val's deadpan face and her silent answers.  As viewers, we knew he had it all wrong and we were all placed inside the head of Val, keeping a brave face, perhaps wearing the glasses to conceal a tear or two.  And they were not headed anywhere in particular and did not ever arrive anywhere, or, at least they were still driving when I woke up. There then.  We've got an endless destination, we've got cars, and we've got a Missmarketcrash type all wrapped up in a vivid theatre-based dream which was no doubt inspired by the trip to the theatre with the children yesterday twisted with a bit of the-happy-news-that-surrounds-us.

So - who is that man in the dream?  Is it the financial advisor of MissMarketcrash?  Is it her husband?  Is it her alter-ego?  Or maybe Obama?  Gordon Brown? In the play this mystery man driver represented "General Mankind of the Herd" that is, someone who thought like everybody and spoke entirely in cliches.  

The theatre yesterday was located near the London School of Economics.  My children, post-theatre, wandered  up to a penguin statue and an elephant statue at the school and played.  I stared in the window at the books on remainder sale at the economics bookshop with a kind of analytical irony.  Now, I cannot recall any copies of "On the Road" in that window to wrap this all up in a neat and tidy packet, but, I do remember the books were all of the pop-light economics sort.  And no one wanted them.