I was browsing the Philosophy section in Waterstones: would it be the Baudrillard

‘It is always the same: once you are liberated, you are forced to ask who you are.’

or the Foucault

‘What strikes me is the fact that in our society, art has become something which is only related to objects, and not to individuals, or to life.’

when I was distracted by what seemed to me an extraordinary scene.

Philosophy is squeezed in between Self Help and Children, and out of the corner of my eye I could see a mother a child and an overladen pram. The mother was very busy making her small toddler comfortable on its potty in the middle of the shop floor.

Bibliophiles, browsers and bored looking staff all carried on as the mother chatted away with her offspring in an outdoor voice offering oohs and ahhs of encouragement. Right there, on its potty, in the middle of the shop. 

And when the mission had been accomplished she put the toddler under her arm, balanced the brimming potty and dragged the overladen pram outside where she emptied the contents on the edge of the pavement. 

And then back they trotted to the books. 

In the meantime the results of my degree arrived. The fog of anticlimax is overwhelming.