‘Allo boys, I’ve been away, I’ve ‘ad a bit of a ‘oliday

August 1, 2009

The pen grows rusty in the grip, the ink runs dry and the page remains blank with unexpressed thoughts. As a consequence the inexpressible becomes unattainable.

As a further consequence the starting again becomes doubly hard. Nothing flows, all is clogged up and once, after a period of scrabbling, a start is achieved, the pen slides meaninglessly across the page.

Nothing seems worth talking about, writing a mere exercise in style. Experiments that might justify such an exercise seem egregious, and to obscure the matter in hand. Attempts at elegance come across as both callow and conservative, at worst pompous – like a child pretending to be an adult. Plain speaking seems uninteresting, and dangerously revealing of a moribund and fruitless intellect.

Clearly, a subject is needed.

Jocelyn Brooke is worth writing about for many reasons, but has hardly been written about at all. The ground is still fresh and I can tell myself that what I am writing is not an exercise in redundant self-gratification. We can pretend. It is, after all, a start.

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A couple of things to read before returning to fantasies of Tommy gunning down your colleagues

January 25, 2008

Being at work isn’t really compatible with posting trenchant entries on literature; no brilliant 10,000 word close analysis of Wyndham Lewis’s Childermass today, you’ll be disappointed to learn. 

Just a quick nod, then, at a couple of things that should help distract from the agonising quotidian boredom and inutile hatred engendered by spreadsheets, and emails marked urgent.

Look! Journal to Stella on the internet! OK, so it’s a bit of a mess at the moment, but I’m sure it will all be cleaned up soon and, with the Diary of Samuel Pepys, should form an essential part of anyone’s morning reading. I usually find that entering their daily grind is a welcome distraction from mine.

Surely it can’t be just me that warms to Swift’s servant Patrick rather more than the Dean at times? All that whingeing.

And fuck M&S’s Christmas campaign; I’m shopping here from now on –

 Harris’s Handbill