Why This Is Hell

Have finished Wednesday's lecture in note form - need to add photos and pictures.

Might have got this done sooner, but I missed a bus by about 45 seconds and there's a 40 minute gap. Should have walked but was lazy and had laptop.

I'll try and write up Julie and Julia tomorrow, but it's worth seeing for the cat alone - and Los Cronocrimenes, an old-fashioned and eventually efficient time travel movie. Plus the weekend's viewing.

I got a remarkable two hours in the library this afternoon, having hoped for about four and dreamed about six, but starting the lecture took more of this morning than planned.

Last night I dreamt they'd redecorated the Farmer's Market. The colour scheme was that of the Carbuncle, which I'd discussed Saturday night.

Sunday's Mail on Sunday had an article on Steven Gately attacking homophobic innuendo about his death. Suzanne Moore did not mention Jan Moir by name.

Dave and I did the Mail on Sunday cryptic crossword.

The RIBA Stirling Prize holds a prominent place in my annual calendar for personal sentimental reasons I shall not go into, but I taped digitised it as I'd gone out on Saturday night. Annoyingly Broadcasting House went straight into an interview with the winner the next day without giving me a chance to turn off the radio. Bum.

Saturday night I'd gone to see Reginald D. Hunter live, supported by Steve Hughes. It was notable for a walk out by a middle aged couple some twenty minutes into the support act. They shouted they'd come to see Hunter not him. Curiously, they did not return after the interval. Okay, the ticket does not say PLUS SUPPORT - and maybe should - but it's fairly standard practice as most comedians do the psychoanalytic Edinburghian hour, and need a support for the first half/third.

Saturday afternoon I bought the more expensive copy of The Taming of the Shrew. Barnardo's had a copy at £2.75, but I thought I'd check Oxfam first - and they had the same edition, different cover, at £2.99. I figgered I prefer the cause and couldn't be bothered to go back and compare conditions. I must do a list of my Arden wants list so I can fill in the gaps. A rough count says 24 - the gaps include The Tempest (leant to a friend, now dead) and comedies and problem plays. A dozen or so left to go - Coriolanus, Titus Andronicus, Troilus and Cressida, All's Well That Ends Well, As You Like It, The Comedy of Errors, Cymbeline, Love's Labour's Lost, Measure for Measure (odd as I've seen and studied this), Merry Wives of Windsor, Pericles, Prince of Tyre, The Tempest, The Two Noble Kinsmen. A baker's dozen. I must check that the Sonnets are distinct from The Poems.

And so to bed. Dreaming of time travelling.

I've just submitted a book proposal that has been 99% done since this time last year. The final 1% took all year. (My middle name is prevarication.) Still, I caught two bleeding obvious omissions which no one who looked at the draft did.

The series editor is on leave. Bah.

I want to go ahead with this project in some form anyway, even if in twelve or more articles. Details to follow.



I dreamt another novel last night. Actually it was a graphic novel and seemed to be variation on my travel from a to b dream. I also dreamt making copious notes. Alas, however.


On the other hand a week or so back I dreamt a soiree involving rozk, kayxh, lamentables and abrinsky, followed by a visit to UoK's Templeman Library. As I stood at the desk, being refused entry, abrinsky turned up with his SWAT team. You knew abrinsky had a SWAT team, obviously.


* This probably isn't the plural of anti-climax. Nor is anti-climi.

I was in a tearoom, which seems remarkable enough, and it is the way of the dream that I'm pretty sure who I was with was not necessarily the same people all the way through. At the crucial point it was Neil and Simon, which makes sense because we were all at schoool together. And who should come in but ( who? )