Those Romans and their counting

I spent much of yesterday anticipating that I would finish the penultimate chapter (please!) on page 599. I was looking forward to the subject line on the consequent post, because I actually had to pause and work out that the Roman numeral for that would be DXCIX (five hundred ten-short-of-a-hundred one-short-of-ten: how could one not love such a system?). Only then I was suddenly struck by an awful realisation, that there was a shortcut version: DIC. Which is no fun at all.

So I just looked it up, and yay. The shortcut is frowned upon!

(To those interested: I am currently on p DXCIX. And no, the chapter is not finished. And there might have to be another one.)

The Alexandrian

I have been (re-)reading Cavafy, partly for simple pleasure and partly because Alexandria holds an abiding fascination for me, and there is probably a book to be written at some time; and I have two things to say about him right now, just the two.

One: for a modernist, he is sometimes surprisingly modern; and

Two: because he is all about failed communication, misreadings, misunderstandings, messages gone astray, I love the fact that I can only read him in translation, which I do not trust. The medium is the message.

DCI

Phew. Chapter over. Alas, it's crap (damn, where's all the drama gone?), but it is at least over.

Which leaves us with one and perhaps another, and finito. To be followed by tears of exhaustion and self-hatred, but let's get there first, eh...?