"unexpected excellent sausage"

That’s right, I don’t go into things too deeply any more — as such, when they ask, and they will ask, how it all went, and had I a nice day, I shall say it went just fine, thank you, I had a very lovely day indeed. On its own that’s a little pacified perhaps and might well be considered evasive and could, thereby, be misconstrued, so I’ll do my bit and say a few tantalising words about the dinner itself — we had pheasant, I’ll say. One apiece. Wrapped in thick rivulets of streaky bacon and the whole thing gussied up with such deliciously tart and exuding redcurrants. Oh how nice, they’ll say, was it nice? Oh yes, I’ll say, it wasn’t bad — tender overall, but perhaps a little dull in places. Is that so, they’ll say, do you think you’d have it again? Sure, I’ll say, sure I’ll have it again. Though next time I’ll do it slightly differently. Next time I’ll break the bugger’s backbone and do him in the pan.

Maybe there are stories, even, like solitaire or canasta; they are shuffled and dealt, then they do or do not come out. Or the deck falls on the floor.

Capital transforms any incident into something senstational and commercial. An entire industry is founded on a dirty incident, which drums up business, and a sequel is made. When the incident is sufficiently consumed, it is forgotten.

A lady lifted the lid of her toilet tank and found a small yachtsman, on the deck of his boat, in the bowl.  They spoke of detergents.  A man with fixed dentures bit into an apple.  A lady in crisis of choice phoned her friend from a market and settled for milk of magnesia.  A hideous family pledged itself to margarine.

The camel, I had noticed, was passing, with great difficulty, through the eye of the needle.  The Apollo flight, the four-minute mile, Venus in Scorpio, human records on land and at sea-- these had been events of enormous importance.  But the camel, practicing in near obscurity for almost two thousand years, was passing through.  First the velvety nose, then rest.  Not many were aware.  But if hte lead camel and then perhaps the entire caravan could make it, the thread, the living thread of camels, would exist, could not be lost.  No one could lose the thread.  The prospects of the rich would be enhanced.  'Ortega tells us that the business of philosophy,' the professor was telling his class of indifferent freshmen, 'is to crack open metaphors which are dead.'