Behind the Sneezeguard

Membranes, boundaries, porous surfaces, liminal spaces—these are all so many terms that have fit the academic fancy of recent years. Why? Well, Old Ken supposes that one might gesture to their suggestion of the blurring or leaking of neat categorizations. That is, the might seem to claim that the material chaos described by Heisenberg's uncertainty principle also operates at the level of lived human life. But, what happens when we cross these thresholds? And who are these Tiresias-like figures able to move between worlds so effortlessly?



More to the point: how do you like your tuna-sweetcorn? Allow me to set the scene: there I was, just minding my own business at the cafeteria of a certain institution whose name is not important here, when I came across this spectacle. Cucumbers? Relish? Mustard? Roasted red pepers fresh out of the can? Roast beast? Salmon mousse? Mutton? The ubiquitous tuna-sweetcorn (that is, tuna fish mixed with mayonaise and corn)? What do any of these things have to do with one another, you ask? Well, they are all on offer, ready to be stuffed (by the friendly, smiling chef) into a baguette, at this, the "Baguette Bar."



Well, such muy delicioso cuisine is not the only delight that Old Ken has recently encountered tucked ever-so-elusively behind a thin membrane. No, also on this list one should count the charming, back-lit dioramas visible in the crypt of the Foundling Hospital, just off Brunswick Square in central London.



Flanked by an arbor of crepe-paper trees and wispy butterfly clouds, what seems to be an extended loggia (recalling the pedestrian walkway that bisects parking lot of the Sainsburys at Puerto de Nueva Cruz, for those of you who might want to transport this to the geography of south east London) invites us deeper into the fictional space. Alas, just as the sneezeguard keeps us from diving head first into the briny depths of pickled baby corn and stewed prunes, so too does the low, rounded doorway prohibit our entry to this marvelous fairyland. Quoth the poet: "Good fences may make good neighbors, but sturdy sneezeguards are the stuff of dreams!"