Two Years Eight Months and Twenty-Eight Nights

The usual delightful richness from Rushdie. His books always make me think of the little threads that connect us to one another - reminding me of the size of the world.

It was both a terrifying and hopeful book to read in the age of Trump - though it was obviously written before this year it resonates well.

Except in this case we have 1,404 days to go. Three years, 10 months and three days by my reckoning. Watch for flying urns until then...