I looked away, I felt sick. I was watching David Cronenberg’s Naked Lunch, with typewriters turning into ghastly monsters dripping foul fluid. After the end late tonight, I turned on the radio to blow away the nightmare images and I hear …. Jerusalem. Its the last night of the proms ‘as always the national anthem is the climax of the last night of the proms’, the commentator says. I can’t believe it is over already, with its horns and conductors and stamping of feet. For many years, on and off, I had marked the end of the summer with that last night and this year it just slipped by, I discovered it too late for the spell to work on me.