March 14th, 2008


I had happy dreams. I was unpacking crates. There were people there I knew and a green hill. And that's about all I remember.

Having a body is fun in many ways. And in other ways it isn't. And the older you get, the more the other ways outnumber the fun ways.

Ach, don't mind me; ever since that reflux thing I've been under the weather. The body took a hammering- like a car that's been run over a road full of pot-holes and boulders.

And then there's maintenance. You've got to feed the thing. I've never been a foodie and planning for meals is such a bore.

According to the latest issue of Archaeology Today- which came through the post as I was writing this-  the "legendary" Cambridge numismatist, Philip Grierson, "subsisted on a diet of Ryvita and sticky cakes (plus pizza and sausages on festive occasions)" and still managed to live to be 95. What a sensible man.!
When I was a child-actor I used to specialise in playing old men. I was Antigonus in The Winter's Tale- that's the geezer who exits pursued by a bear. I had the bent posture, the cracked voice, the tremble. People said I was just like the real thing.


I keep coming back to that image of Pegasus- swooping down to release the waters under the earth with a blow of his brazen hoof.

Wouldn't it be great to have wings?