I know what I like in my wardrobe
As yesterday, pushing on with the business book. Broke off at noon to meet Anton in the Marwood Cafe. I am avoiding coffee, but had tea. He showed me a new game on his iPad and we talked about marketing and the history of Britain 1974-79 as depicted in Seasons in the Sun and other business perched on stools on a table with human-shaped moulded legs.
Returning home, I eventually pinned down the plumbers to a time and price.
Returning home, I eventually pinned down the plumbers to a time and price.
Felt good about this, and about completing the rewrite of the introductory 'Orientations' section of the business book. The business case for my ideas is now made more clearly, without losing I hope, its readability.
Lorraine out at a retirement do this evening. I meanwhile kept a low profile. I had been invited to a booze up with the music boys in the Evening Star, but I avoided this being laced with antibiotics etc.
Listening to Seasons in the Sun and watching the first half of the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe movie again. I love the moment when the children push their way through fur coats into a fir wood, which is done very well in the film. I often wished for a portal into another world, and I wonder how many kids who read this book tried the backs of wardrobes. But it's really the book itself, that is the portal they are looking for.
Perhaps it is because I am a slow learner that it takes me decades to unpick things I experienced as a child, and I still think about the Narnia stories. Perhaps this is what makes people seem older; their struggle to understand the meaning of things in a world has long vanished. People who lost themselves in books are now rivalled by people fondly remembering the virtual landscapes of computer games. My preoccupation with understanding the stories I was told as a child must date me.
Of course there is this Buddhist idea that one should live in the moment, which is probably the ideal. But people who chase the latest thing, and are attached to the future must experience life in a shallow way if they never return to unpick the things they have experienced.
Below the magical wardrobe, and children emerging by the lamp post in Narnia.
Perhaps it is because I am a slow learner that it takes me decades to unpick things I experienced as a child, and I still think about the Narnia stories. Perhaps this is what makes people seem older; their struggle to understand the meaning of things in a world has long vanished. People who lost themselves in books are now rivalled by people fondly remembering the virtual landscapes of computer games. My preoccupation with understanding the stories I was told as a child must date me.
Of course there is this Buddhist idea that one should live in the moment, which is probably the ideal. But people who chase the latest thing, and are attached to the future must experience life in a shallow way if they never return to unpick the things they have experienced.
Below the magical wardrobe, and children emerging by the lamp post in Narnia.
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