This one is crap! Complete, absolute junk. How, how, how could you do this to us, Paul? Especially after the magic of Graceland; this is a desecration. It’s called “You’re The One” or something execrable like that, and it is eminently avoidable. Just warning the world.
I had my first experience of an ice-induced fishtail today on the A272, and while it was interesting and exhilarating, it’s something I’d rather not repeat on a public highway, thank you very much. I have no wish to get my love dented and possibly written off; not to mention the possibility of serious personal damage to physiology and psychology.
I think I’ve finally found a sport where I can meet Richard on equal terms, and it’s a damn good thing, too. I’m sick of him running rings around me in basketball and swimming. However, a good bout of table tennis had me in excellent mood pretty soon. It’s weird, but I can hear UM’s voice so clearly in my head: “Bend, Anu, bend! Move your feet! Watch the ball! Timing, timing, timing!!”. And she was right, of course, but I think I was just too uncoordinated as a teenager to take advantage of what she said. Finally, though, it’s making sense, and I can do what I want to do without feeling as though I’m made out of broomsticks loosely tied together with sellotape. Growing up does have its benefits.
I’m hopelessly behind with keeping in touch with people; need to call Kate, need to mail Kirby, need to call the Aged Parents, need to write to Minti. Argh! Need to write to Dev and confess that I forgot his birthday again. It’ll happen; possibly even before next year.
I’m glad my mini-depression angsty sessions don’t last more than a day or two; entirely back to normal now, and a damn good thing too.
The reason I wash my face twice every single time I shower is because Kirby once told me that I looked like a “Tamilian construction worker”; and that got me musing today about how much people really influence me, by saying or doing the most trivial things. I know that’s a silly example, but it does make me wonder what else I do just because of something someone has said to me at some point in my distant past. Amazing, really, what is buried in your head, ready to come spilling out at the touch of a memory or incident.
Interesting experience, being in a sauna for the first time, and then in a steam room, and then a swim, and then ruining all the good effects by going out for pizza. However, James, Fran and I are possibly the only people ever to have a discussion about K in a sauna. Fascinating, lying there with the heat searing the inside of my nose, talking about Bohm and Shainberg, and wondering when I was going to pass out from dehydration. I drank about two litres of water after, and another litre and a half this morning, so it wasn’t all psychosomatic. But it’s quite an extraordinary feeling – the sense of being consumed by heat, pouring out from inside, always just on the edge of discomfort It’s a catharisis, mental and physical. Drains you completely.
Harry Potter after, not bad at all. Quite like Ralph Feinnes as Voldy.
I came back to find that some bright spark had borrowed my laptop to watch a movie (no problem with that) and then gone and shut it down. All very responsible, except I was running a script in Excel that was copying and verifying a whole pile of things, and I hadn’t saved the script. So now I have to rewrite the script, and then run the whole bloody thing again. Sigh. People sometimes, I tell you.
I still think this is a book that touches perfection; along with Pilgrim, it is a book I’ve read and re-read, and still it touches something in me that few other books have. I have neither the vocabulary nor the writing skill to truly express what these books have meant to me over the years, but I would still like to try.
Pilgrim is not a mere “collection of essays”. It’s far more than that dry sentence can possibly suggest – a lyrical prose-poem; a mystical exploration of life and nature, a rich, evocative love story. I still get shivers down my spine when I read it; the power and beauty in the language are masterfully, effortlesly brought out. More than that, however, the book seems to have the ability to drive straight into the heart of things – to perceive without judgement, to see clearly into what truly is, and to bring it home to me. That is an extraordinary quality, and for that alone I treasure it.
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek; Annie Dillard
84 Charing Cross Road; Helene Hanff
I think a dribble is “rain” and I expect roads to be smooth and drivers to behave. I grin inanely and say hello to total strangers. I say “half three”. I enjoy baked beans and toast. I speak blithely of “the Tube” and “the M25”.
This is horrifying. I need to go somewhere to get away from all this.
On a side note; sleeping four hours a night works for a night or two – then weird things start to happen. I’m pretty upset, I must admit, about the library thing not happening, but I suppose that since there’s nothing I can do, I might as well bite my lip and make the most of it. Go to Winch and look for temp work, and sort out the bloody videos. Don’t have to like it; just have to do it.