April 18, 2012 § 105 Comments
I am so sorry I have been so silent, and then the Times column didn’t come out on Monday when I had promised it would because they had to make way for a big book extract about the death of Philip Gould. Anyway, it promises to go in next Monday and I jolly well will publish it here on Tuesday. It will of course be rather out of date, to say the least, for which I am sorry.
I am also sorry that I have not been posting. Everything went wrong and I was just too fucking depressed and am still feeling a bit knocked for six. In the process now of – yet again – trying to pick myself up, dust myself down, smile and wave and push on. Not quite back on track. But getting there. I guess.
I am lucky enough to have the children back and to have had the opportunity to read some excellent novels, including John Lanchester’s Capital (I am a BIG fan of John Lanchester, the writer and the man; he’s wonderful) which really took me out of myself; and another one which was high-brow enough (about the decline of the Austro-Hungarian Empire) to require a little more concentration than usual to distract me a little from my self-imposed misery. I loved it too, and especially so when a friend of mine who is the sub-warden of an Oxbridge college and a distinguished historian told me that she had always been told how brilliant this particular novel was but had never got to grips with it and how clever of me not only to have got through it but also to have loved it! (Nothing better than kind, supportive friends, eh?)
You have every reason to tell me I am sounding like the worst kind of boastful arsehole and I can fuck right off and you’d be right, but I mention it purely because the boast is all I have right now: the book and her compliment constituted the only little pulse of pleasure in a period otherwise entirely devoid of the stuff. Worst Easter ever. Thank fuck it’s over.