That was my thought this morning. B***er the Greeks. What’s so special about the Greeks?
Reading Alan Bennett, a collection entitled “Writing Home”. I’m not sure how we came by this – probably in a charity shop or in our local second-hand book shop. This is run by an older couple who are very active in neighbourhood affairs and who for some reason either don’t like me or have decided that I don’t exist.*
Maybe I don’t.
Anyway, Alan Bennett: this compilation includes “The Lady in the Van”, about a woman who parked her ancient van outside his house and lived in it, in conditions of squalor, for a couple of decades. She was a true eccentric, created her own political party and intended to stand for parliament. Like a lot of eccentrics she did not want to be known and went under an assumed name. In 1984 she wrote a letter “To someone in charge of Argentina” beginning:
I am writing to help mercy towards the poor general who led your forces in the war actually as a person of true knowledge more than might be.”
A member of the Fidelius Party.
…Translate into Argentinian if you wish.”
Dickens couldn’t have made her up. Recommended reading.
I also have an Isabel Allende waiting but I have to be in a certain mood to read Isabel Allende. I have to be feeling at least 45% Spanish. And today (possibly thanks to Bennett) I am around 95% Anglo-Saxon.
Today: to Loughborough to see Mark’s mum. Collect stuff from the chalet. I shall have to be judicious about how much time I spend there.
Lots of ideas collecting about the novel. But sometimes I worry about my sanity.
*The man always says hallo to Mark and never to me, and the woman looks (and talks) as though she’s swallowed a lemon.