Thursday, 17 November 2011


The doctor says I'm supposed to be convalescing, which I take to mean sitting in a state of semi consciousness under a rug drinking tea between re-runs of Millions Like Us and some awful pap like 'Junior Bake off'. I am astonished there is actually a programme called 'Junior Bake Off', it must be some kind of sick joke, and nothing could bring me to watch it. Nothing can bring me to watch almost anything on today's TV, I long for Columbo, Ironside, The A Team and six o'clock cocktail hour but I long in vain. I wonder if tea and cakes will appear, but they do not, and then Julie says she's going out tonight and I start to hum the refrain from 'Ruby Don't Take Your Love to Town'.
I don't think you can do convalescing self consciously, I think it is one of those great negatives, sort of 'don't do anything' unless you are stuck in a deck chair up a mountain in the sunshine of the alps, that never did Thomas Mann any harm, but I'm stuck here instead, three days a week, in recovery from the world.

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