I've always had difficulty getting a grip on the UK word wet, its precise connotations and characteristics. In a moment of synapses finally firing as they ought comes the satori realization: wet = drip. Why won't my mind always do that?

Continue to swim through Perdido. Am bemused that nojojojo could finish this and and not Jonathan Strange, though I'm sure it's a question of what you're used to. Perdido continues to be a more human funhouse mirror reflection of Gravity's Rainbow for which, trust me, I'm grateful. First night after reading it I dreamed I was in Shakespeare's London, tawdry garish smelly and energetic version of same. Thank you, China (which surely isn't his name? though given what other stuff my generation pulled on its kids, it might well be.)