… and me … sort of.
Phrase of the day – Fake Tilt Shift
I thought I had got beyond the general air of anxiety that had been washing around me for the last few weeks and then, this morning I had a really upsetting dream. I deference to my wife’s superstition on this matter I have promised not to “tell a Friday night dream on Saturday” but this was weird in a David Cronenburg type of way though later on it did turn lucid when I realised that it was a good job that it was a dream or else I would be in deep trouble. I do know what the dream referred to and I suppose my being able to recognise it and realise the consequences of it have actually made me feel better about things and so on to a very enjoyable Saturday.
I want to write about big things, like the things I used to write about but a week of toil and driving seems to have turned my mind to something like the stuff you might find behind the fridge. Oh well, there is always the Dorling-Kindersley history of art book which I got from the library today. It cries out to be turned into a CD ROM like the Microsoft disk of pictures in the National Gallery. It will only be a dipping-into book as after finishing The Citadel, I have started Jane Eyre much to my wife’s delight, as this is her favourite book. The Citadel was strangely modern and old-fashioned at the same time. It seemed a dangerous collection of themes to write about for the late thirties, almost as if it was written by a doctor for doctors, or at least the levels of society permitted to experience racier stuff – like the Victorian upper classes had all their own kinks and pornography while frowning on the licentiousness of the lower orders. I have to say that the Citadel was obviously a pointer towards the creation of the Health Service and had many plus-ca-change moments, which I wanted to ram down the throat of the current incumbent of Richmond House – I want to say Alan Milburn but I really just don’t care any more. – Aha Patrica Hewitt.
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