Rosamond Lehmann, William Blake And the Spreadeagle

I have just finished reading Miss Lehmann's The Echoing Grove.


In this novel appears a couplet taken from William Blake's poem Broken Love, a powerful thing indeed.

"And throughout all Eternity

I forgive you, you forgive me."

Yes, "infinite love" was her expression.

There's no escape.  Today I found an ancient Penguin - John Fothergill's An Innkeeper's Diary; I had to buy it - she had a copy and introduced me to the story of The Spreadeagle at Thame and Fothergill's often outrageous tales; typical of the things we shared.

Inevitably I had forgotten the dedication:

To ["T"]

Too Good for Words

&c.

I suppose I might have guessed that Fothergill's wife would have to have had that name.

Yet another stab in the heart I'm afraid.

Until the next time

Pedantry III

I mentioned here that I have found a copy of Aldous Huxley's Antic Hay, recommended about nine months ago by "T".  Recently I referred too to my pedantic nature (Link and link) which seemed to please her, so she said.

It was rather piquant, to say the least, to read the following in the novel:

"What a delicious pedant you are!  She turned away from the window, put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him. "Too exquisitely ridiculous!"  And she kissed him.

The greater the height, the worse the fall I suppose.

Until the next time.

Heartbreak

[27/26]

You know, it really is a struggle despite the passing of six months and today is a bit blacker than usual.

Many say "Oh, it's the feeling of rejection, wounded pride" and so on.

But it isn't.  It's the missing - and very often the small things.  I remember an occasion when we were discussing the writer Aldous Huxley.  I had never read any of his work; "I think you'd enjoy Antic Hay" she said.  I found a copy two days ago and have read it.  And just like every time I read something interesting, I want to talk with her about it, and of course I can't.

And there will never be anybody with whom I can talk in this way - especially a lover.

And this is horribly depressing and desperately sad and there's not a damned thing I can do about it.

Until the next time

"5.9, 5.9, 5.9 - ooh and it's 3.6 from the North Korean Judge..."

[27/26]


I had hoped to avoid any mention of the Olympic Games here, but unfortunately, the passage of the Olympic Torch at the end of the road this afternoon makes comment seemingly obligatory.

Given my generally misanthropic stance I imagine that it is not necessary for me to reveal here my view of the Olympic farce (shurely Games? Ed.); the squandering of billions on this ridiculous business in these straitened times beggars belief (Whoops! I revealed it!)

Anyway, the torch passed by this afternoon whilst I was on the balcony in the sunshine enjoying a clope.  The carriage of this beacon of hope was preceded by a small motorcade of quite outstanding vulgarity: it was composed of various converted lorries carrying the brand names of the sponsors so beloved of Lord Coe - Samsung, Coca-Cola, Lloyds TSB.  From the Coca-Cola lorry came horrible music reproduced at staggering volume. Finally to considerable cheering from the assembled crowd came the little torch carried no doubt by some "celebrity" or other (who cares?).  

I saw a small yellow flame and then it passed and after a few more police on motor-cycles  rounded off the performance, everybody went home.

In summary, the Age of the Common Man writ large.

Goodness How Sad.

Until the next time

Twenty-Seven/Twenty-Six

27/26

I just have to wait
    And wait,
         And wait



Until the next time

Thursday's Child?

Mr Onymous commented on my last post regarding another awful Thursday, suggesting that I should "get out more."

Well I do get out; here's a typical day, chez moi:

10:00 get up

10:01 - 10:04 shuffle about a bit, think about HER

10:05 Tea, read emails, news on Internet etc. Cigarette

10:30 Wash, shave, dress, think about HER

11:00 Breakfast: Waitrose malted wheats, coffee with double cream; cigarette, think about HER

11:30  work on amplifiers

16:00-ish Go out for walk to Hammersmith, browse in secondhand book shop, buy book(s) take to Star cafe for large fry-up and tea and a read.

18:00 At home, more amplifiers

20:45 Internet

21:30 BEER, think about HER, read book(s)

23:10 return home, tea Internet, think about HER

24:00 Bed, book, sleeping pill

For those who might think "get a life", this is one, mine.

Until the next time.

The Passing Weeks

25/24


Until the next time

More Pedantry

[24/23]

Not once have I felt inclined to abandon pedantry; the passing years inevitably engender the feeling that everything is going to/has gone to, the dogs.

When I suggested to my erstwhile girlfriend that pedantry is the route to insanity, she replied "it's the route to my heart"  So much for that.

Exasperated by constant media references to "cooler temperatures", "fastest time", grinding my teeth when I hear the word "controversy" mispronounced and so on; the fact is that the "going to the dogs" provides endless entertainment or at least stimulation, for the pedant.

As no doubt many did during the past fortnight, I watched some of the coverage of the Tennis Championships from Wimbledon.  The commentators (John McEnroe is the best) appear to have finally abandoned the appalling expression "trails" as e.g. "He is trailing by two sets to love"  grrr, but now they have the appalling habit of saying for example "He is love-forty down" or even worse, "he was fifteen-forty down on his service"

What's the matter with these people?

1)  The server's score is always given first

2) If the first number is smaller than the second then obviously the server is "down."

3) "On his service" is therefore superfluous and profoundly irritating as indeed is the word "down."

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Until the next time.

Twenty-four/Twenty-three

[24/23]

Bloody Thursdays; hateful.

Until the next time