2. I dreamed I was in Sheffield- and it was the most spectacular city. My in-laws were there too and being generically annoying. I was trying to take photos and kept being thwarted- by things getting in the way, by people hustling me along, by the buildings morphing. Eventually the batteries on my camera died and I had to give up. So much beauty and I wasn't able to capture any of it!
3. Bruce Forsyth has always irritated me- so vulgar, so pleased with himself, so unfunny. He annoyed me when I was a wee, small boy and here he still is - aged God knows what- fronting Celebrity Come Dancing and annoying me now I'm an arthritic greybeard. You've got to give him respect for lasting so long, but why, why, why?
4. I'm reading Malcolm Lowry. How come? Because I won the book in a competition and he's a classic and I believe in furthering my education. He's heavy. James Joyce threw down the gauntlet and said, "Look we really ought to be able to cram the whole of human experience into a single, foursquare piece of writing"- and Lowry was one of those who took up the challenge. I think it was maybe always a doomed adventure. Because however much you cram in there's always more. And the more you cram in the harder you make it for the reader. You certainly don't read Lowry for the story. And he doesn't reward you with passages of otherworldly beauty the way Virginia Woolf does. The piece I've just finished is a "journal" of a sea voyage from Vancouver, through the Panama Canal, to England. It's all sorts of rewarding things but never exactly fun.