I am listening to Any Questions on Radio 4, which is coming from Somerset. Paddy Ashdown seems to be enjoying himself. I am not (even though it's not a bad show this evening). Why? Well, my fingers and toes are tingling like crazy, so I'm imagining all kinds of dreadful diseases, I have a cold, a headache, a flatmate's house guest (which is actually fine, but I'll throw it into the mix), still waiting for laptop to arrive, so expect this to crash any moment, and have the prospect of a wet Saturday and a day in the office tomorrow. This is basically warm up for trying to edit a chapter for a volume that is due on the 15th, and which I am not at all happy. The day was spent on labels and worringly about the gizmo for The Exhibition.
I think I have a sense of what I want to say (which is something about sentimentality and images of the popular classes), but feel little reason to say it, except as some some of simulacrum of scholarly work. Although rather cheeringly, I sat down with a second-hand copy of Sorel on Napoleon, which was once owned by Felipe Fernandez-Armesto, the jay-walking global historian (picked up at the bargain price on Charing Cross Road). Sorel is quite lively as a writer, and FF-A's comments (some in French) are spritely, too. What is cheering, though, is that quite clearly he started well, and ran out of steam about page 46.
The Olympics have also begun. Rather sadly, I am sort of looking forward to watching the fireworks on the TV (or YouTube, as I must have missed it). I rather enjoyed the Australian ones.
No comments:
Post a Comment