2nd day of Rosh Hashonah was devoted to a reverential tour of my neighborhood, the once-Jewish East End. The wart-inflected laughter of a million pickles echoes even today through its, sadly, far less schmaltzy streets. I particularly wanted to hear the shofar blasts emanating from the shul in Stepney that operates still (they make bourbon, I think). Was worried I'd be late and I guess I was. By, maybe, a number of years.

Luckily, I knew of another shul, by Spitalfields Market.

Which was locked up good and tight.

I had to make do with a joyous parade of Muslims, enjoying their Fanta after a month of deprivation.

Close?  

Maybe.

But I wanted a cigar.