short & sad
Somebody landed here today after Googling “describe yourself in a single phrase”. Mine would be: five feet six inches tall.
Reading Lee Smolin, The Trouble with Physics. Good stuff, but I think a better source of epigrams for the new novel would be Adam Thorpe’s Hodd, which has this: “…a shrieking was heard under the grass and a pearl the bigness of a hazel-nut lay there, from whence the smell of a honeycomb rose up, that over-powered the stink (though some said that the perfume was of violets), whereupon the pearl vanished that none should quarrel over it, and soon after the wind calmed and the light returned.” It’s the absolute archetype of medieval visionary imagery, the madness they did so well. I want to write something like it.
My EasyJet virus (the second one I’ve caught on a Gatwick-Valencia flight) has migrated from the left ear, where it made its reputation, to the sinuses on the other side. A dull ache in the cheekbone comes and goes according to the weather, making me a more woeful figure than I was yesterday.