Dear Me

[desperance]

Walking into the Lit & Phil this morning - or dragging in, rather, barely in the morning at all, after yet one more bad night - my buzzy mind was buzzing rather more usefully than ofttimes before, and I had some geet handy ideas for Pandaemonium. I thought, I should make a note of these.

And then I was in the library and of course I didn't make any notes, because I am not the sort of person who does that sort of thing.

And then I'd packed up and was walking up into town, and out of nowhere I found myself singing "Gonna sit right down and write myself a letter." Why yes, all the way through. And round to the start and begin again, over and over.

Oh, I thought, okay then. I can take a hint.

And when I got home, before I made lunch? I made notes.

In other news, back in the '90s I had a student called Peter Straughan. I taught him all he knows. (The polite way to say that is "I taught him all I knew," but nah. He was just a boy, he couldn't take it all.) Also, I had a friend called Bridget O'Connor. I gave her my TV. I don't claim to have introduced Peter and Bridget, but, y'know. I might've done.

Then they went away and got married and had a kid, and put all they knew into effect.

Then Bridget died, which is miserable and we don't talk much about that.

But now? Peter and Bridget are sharing an Oscar nomination, for the screenplay of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.

My chuffage is almost beyond measure.