cast away in 'what is happening'
My favourite part of EM Forster's 'Aspects of the Novel' is where he says: "... in a sort of drooping regretful voice... Yes - oh dear yes - the novel tells a story... I wish that it was not so, that it could be something different - melody, or perception of the truth, not this low atavistic form."
Story of my life.
Last weekend Ms Baroque started a 28-day detox diet (with breaks for socialising) and, to be honest, felt better than for months almost immediately. But not better enough to counteract the exhaustion of trying to impersonate a 9-5 office worker from 9am to 5pm every day - it's not that easy to become Early Victorian. And came the morning she was woken up by the bizarre news that there had been some sort of bomb plot intercepted on her all-important transatlantic route, mass chaos in all airports and, in short, back to square one on the anti-fear-of-flying project. Immediate mental reconnoitring of everyone who's away, where are they, are anyone's kids in America? Like that "where's my bag" moment. Of course we're not thinking about the future yet.
Or, in this case, about the plot itself, which is too bizarre and Bond-like to comprehend.
In my work, 100% sunk into the demanding business of Being New - good humour, willingness, sweetness, the humility of knowing nothing... Argh! I paid a lunchtime visit to the SW1 Oxfam Bookshop, but the beautiful little Muses Library Ben Jonson now nestled in my bag has failed to make much impact - words themselves seem too heavy to lift.
An email from an editor, with a welcome thought regarding an article I was supposed to be writing, came to me as if rolled up in a 200-year-old bottle. Maybe my people are still living, and I'll be rescued?
One of the 24 'men' arrested was in Stoke Newington - typical. And another one was in Clapton. When I first moved to Stoke Newington, in oh was it 1992, it quickly because a running joke that every time anyone was arrested for making a bomb (back then it was the IRA) it was always a shed or garage in Stoke Newington. We'd left Muswell Hill to come here, and you can imagine the joy one day in possibly 1994 when the radio announced five men arrested with lots of explosive materials in Colney Hatch Lane! However, we're long since back to normal. One of the failed July 21 bombers was also from N16.
Meanwhile, I'm discovering the office politics at the new place. Our room is being repainted for a week, and, just as I'm getting used to it, we've been moved to the fourth floor for the duration. Nothing like being put at the desk of someone who just got made redundant to find out how the inter-team dynamics work.Story of my life.
Last weekend Ms Baroque started a 28-day detox diet (with breaks for socialising) and, to be honest, felt better than for months almost immediately. But not better enough to counteract the exhaustion of trying to impersonate a 9-5 office worker from 9am to 5pm every day - it's not that easy to become Early Victorian. And came the morning she was woken up by the bizarre news that there had been some sort of bomb plot intercepted on her all-important transatlantic route, mass chaos in all airports and, in short, back to square one on the anti-fear-of-flying project. Immediate mental reconnoitring of everyone who's away, where are they, are anyone's kids in America? Like that "where's my bag" moment. Of course we're not thinking about the future yet.
Or, in this case, about the plot itself, which is too bizarre and Bond-like to comprehend.
In my work, 100% sunk into the demanding business of Being New - good humour, willingness, sweetness, the humility of knowing nothing... Argh! I paid a lunchtime visit to the SW1 Oxfam Bookshop, but the beautiful little Muses Library Ben Jonson now nestled in my bag has failed to make much impact - words themselves seem too heavy to lift.
An email from an editor, with a welcome thought regarding an article I was supposed to be writing, came to me as if rolled up in a 200-year-old bottle. Maybe my people are still living, and I'll be rescued?
One of the 24 'men' arrested was in Stoke Newington - typical. And another one was in Clapton. When I first moved to Stoke Newington, in oh was it 1992, it quickly because a running joke that every time anyone was arrested for making a bomb (back then it was the IRA) it was always a shed or garage in Stoke Newington. We'd left Muswell Hill to come here, and you can imagine the joy one day in possibly 1994 when the radio announced five men arrested with lots of explosive materials in Colney Hatch Lane! However, we're long since back to normal. One of the failed July 21 bombers was also from N16.
Like the airport officials with their see-through plastic bags, I'm realising that sometimes lucidity is all that really matters.
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