Se7en dwarves. I can never remember all their names. Happy. The equivalent in Se7en would be lust. Everybody all remembers lust as one of the seven deadly sins, or maybe that’s just me, the Freudian equivalent of saying I’m a wanker. There is another sin sloth-sneezey and dopey. In Se7en the perp or perv is tied to the bed for a year and we jump because he’s meant to be dead, but he’s still alive. Gluttony, of course is easy, that’s just a fat guy made to eat fat stuff and a bit of shavings from the chair he’s sitting on so that Morgan Freeman can match it to the tracks on the fridge, push is back and see the word written on the wall. Angry? Is that one of the dwarves? I’m not really sure. I don’t think that’s one of the sins. I think there’s another that begins with G. Maybe groping, but that’s only on a Saturday night. The double whammy at the end is of course, a two for one deal. Homicidal rage and kill the man that killed and raped Gyneth Paltrow. She looked about 12 and Brad, aged 13 was her boyfriend at the time, so that was understandable. Morgan Freeman plays the same old lag in every movie so he stood aside and didn’t condone it, just nodded, maybe aye, maybe no. Maybe righteous anger is one of the seven cardinal virtues. I can’t actually think of one of them. Sneezy?

The joy of stats. I can’t remember the name. That’s not what it was called, but it should have been. Stats are all about patterns. New technology makes them stand out like a hard on in a nudist-bathing beach. Florence Nightingale ability as a nurse is really irrelevant. Her ability to document and draw a diagram was the real reason that field causalities were given better treatment. Even the daftest ‘oh such a lovely war’ generals couldn’t fail to see they were a direct hit. And when Ms Nightingale threatened to publish the Royal Commission sat and sat an sat and well done something eventually. So stats are beautiful, but they are so deadly boring and that’s a sin, but maybe not one of the seven.

The patterning of memory is stranger still. If I remember rightly the right or left eye processes information fractions of a second before the other. Memory jumps in to pattern information. It is always active and never passive. New memories are not like putting square blocks of memory and putting them in the square holding spaces of the brain. It’s rather like lighting a cerebral cortex Christmas tree, with different patterns shimmering and shining and nothing ever remaining the same. That last bit sounds like the end of a song.

The younger self associates happiness with excitement, alcohol, drugs, sex. The older self-goals change and happiness is equated with peace (in retirement). The democratic change of there being more over 65s in the UK than under 25’s mean peace is disrupted because they are rioting. Good on them. The old fuckers. It’s all about class, of course.