Christopher Hitchens died and by a process of lateral thinking I found myself spending much of the afternoon on his brother's website. Peter Hitchens wants it to be the 1950s or the 1900s or the Middle Ages or any time at all except the present. He thinks the bombing of civilians is an atrocious crime (even when we Brits do it) and he detests David Cameron. Christopher characterised him as a good, buff-coated Cromwellian soldier- and I think that fits him admirably. You don't have to agree with a person to find them congenial.
It snowed overnight- and I walked to our local Tesco through slush. I bought oatcakes. I would like it to snow some more. Let's have a day or two of proper Breughelian winter.
The holidays are upon us and I've been downloading holiday reading onto my e-reader. My seasonal choices are Charlotte Bronte's Villette (the only Bronte novel I've ever read is Wuthering Heights), Conan Doyle's two books about Brigadier Gerard and Conrad's Heart of Darkness.
