Sunday, November 10th
Rumple and Teazer are very furry kittens, and they generously distribute their spare fur all around the house. It’s everywhere. I love them to bits, but cat fur in one’s food can be a little annoying, and it’s tricky to digest. And almost all my clothes are furry, too. It’s of little or no consequence, I suppose: fur might be fibre (I don’t know) and I’m not a fashion icon.
Algernon Tenderloin has asked me to write an essay about anything poetry-related I want to write an essay about for a journal with which he has some connection. That’s what I call a vague invitation, and one to which at the moment I have no idea how to respond. Why are people always asking me to do their thinking for them?
Melissa telephoned. I asked Cook to take the call so she could do my thinking for me.
Monday, November 11th
Chilly this morning, so I dressed three times, one on top of the other. But at least there was sunshine.
It’s of little consequence (or interest to a future reader) but if I wake up too early of a morning and get up early then half the things I’d intended to spend my morning doing are done by the time Cook has woken up enough to dish up an edible breakfast. Perhaps I should go to bed later, which might mean I wake later. But I’m sleepy by my current bedtime, and I have a new electric blanket which is very welcoming. My brain was empty this morning, by the way, because the night-time elves had popped in to take what treasures they could find. There were few.
Melissa telephoned. She said that one of her friends has suggested she sign up with a dating agency, and given her their phone number. I couldn’t think of an appropriate response, and cut the conversation short by saying that some Jehovah’s Witnesses were at the door demanding my attention.
A bit of an empty day, to be honest, and hardly worth writing about.
Tuesday, November 12th
I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately with content that won’t go away when I wake up. Last night I dreamed someone was examining my teeth, but I don’t know why they were examining my teeth, and they were being pretty clumsy about it. I remember once ages ago someone told me that if you dreamed your teeth were falling out it meant you had something big on your mind. At that time I dreamed that dream quite a lot, but I could never work out what I had on my mind, and then the dreams went away. Dreams are usually of little or no consequence, I think, which I think I’ve said before.
Amused today reading Swift, and his taking “Stella” to task for her bad spelling:
“Here is a full and true account of Stella’s spelling.
Plaguely — Plaguily
Dineing — Dining
Straingers — Strangers
Chais — Chase
Waist — Wast
Houer — Hour
Immagin — Imagine
A bout — About
Intellegence — Intelligence
Aboundance — Abundance
Merrit — Merit
Secreet — Secret
Phamphlets — Pamphlets
Bussiness — Business
Tell me truly, sirrah, how many of these are mistakes of the pen, and how many are you to answer for as real ill spelling?. . . . . . . . I allow you henceforth but six false spellings in every letter you send me.”
I smiled also because yesterday while composing a work of genius I had trouble spelling “exaggerate” — I nearly always get the Gs and Rs wrong — and in this morning’s crossword one answer turned out to be “misspell”, which I thought only had one S, so that held me up for a while.
Melissa telephoned. She said she feels a little low. I feel the same. Perhaps not low, but flat. It might be the time of year, or the menopause.
On the wireless this evening, a fine concert by a violinist whose name I can’t say properly, never mind spell. He played (among other things) Massenet’s “Meditation from Thais”, which is/was very beautiful.
Wednesday, November 13th
I dreamed I was cooking chicken using an oven that refused to work. At the end of the dream, while I was still fiddling with the damned oven, I half woke up, realized I was dreaming and that the oven wasn’t a real problem, so I went back to sleep, peacefully. Dreams are usually of little or no consequence, I think. I’m pretty certain I’ve said the same thing before. Oh yes: yesterday. I must stop repeating myself.
In The Angler’s Arms today at lunchtime chatting with a chap whose name I’ve never known, and now I’m too embarrassed to tell him I don’t know his name, and he told me about a friend of his who was crushed in a brick-making machine to within 4 inches of his life, literally 4 inches – the thickness of a brick. Somehow he survived, although he’ll never be the same again. Blimey.
Melissa telephoned. Apparently the dating agency has told her she’s over their age limit, but that there are other agencies that specialize in “the older woman”. She didn’t seem very happy about that.
In bed now, and thinking about the chap in the brick-making machine. I wonder what he was doing in there. Of all the places not to get into, I would put a brick-making machine pretty high up on the list. I shall probably never find out what he was up to. I hope I don’t dream about it.
Friday, November 15th
Listened this morning to an LP by Marian Anderson, the renowned American singer, doing spirituals, including “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” and “I Want Jesus to Walk with Me”. It’s an old record, because she’s more or less from another age. Her voice is the kind of voice you don’t hear very often these days, and definitely not on pop records. Mind you, I don’t listen to pop records, not if they were recorded after around 1975. Cook said Anderson’s voice reminded her of her mother, who she said was a marvellous songstress. As far as I know, Cook’s mother used to be a Town Crier, but I let it go. It’s of negligible consequence, and it would have been a conversation I stood no chance of winning.
On our walk this afternoon Winnie and I were mesmerized by two falcons I think they were that hovered above us as if we were potential prey. Perhaps we were. I for one would be quite tasty. I was surprised that Winnie noticed them. She doesn’t usually look up into the sky, mainly because she’s a dog and dogs spend most if not all of their time out on a walk with their nose to the ground.
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James Henderson (Gentleman)
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