<em>The Great British Baking Show</em> and the Meaning of Life
National politics is unutterably depressing. International politics fills me with foreboding. Being a dean brings one challenge after another, reminding me that life was a lot simpler as a professor. For my physical health, there is a rowing machine, but for my peace of mind, I have learned this past year, nothing beats old episodes of The Great British Baking Show, which one can binge-watch to satiety on Netflix.
This trick of seeking temporary refuge from the realities of a grim world by indulging in fantasies of the simple pleasures situated in some lovely part of rural England is nothing new. During the Blitz, Londoners rediscovered the joys of the 19th-century novelist Anthony Trollope. They might have been huddling in fetid, overcrowded subwaydevotees were ecstatic when, the coronavirus notwithstanding, a new season began a few weeks ago.
