Night at EJ and JR’s with Matt. Degenerated into dressing up, and playing a game where you each take the worst book you can find and try to construct a crazy narrative in small fragments. I also tried Nigerian palm wine (£2.99 from Payless in Peckham) but it just tasted sweet, sour and kind of oily…

The next morning we posted three letters to Iranian excellencies on behalf of Haleh Esfandiari, passed through Borough Market for good olive oil and don’t ask me what I did for the rest of Saturday. Oh yeah, talked to my mum and got sucked into Israel again. Well, it’s time I did, but this time I won’t let it divert me from other important concerns. And I cobbled together a chronological philosophy reading list from the web sites of various UK universities.

Next day we went to the Museum of Brands and Packaging. Last time we visited when it was in Gloucester, we had happened on the owner-curator Robert Opie up a step ladder amongst the exhibits, and yesterday he was still there manning the phones (we got lost amongst the cattle-like locals who evidently never deviate from the track they make between home, work and tapas bar) and talking to the visitors. Not every day you get to do that. He told us about marmite jars, squirty cream and wartime recycling. I could have stayed longer, but as it was EJ and Matt left for the pub long before JR and I were ready. Then we went to a pub somewhere near Portobello Rd (which is populated by very creepy people, can’t put my finger on it) and I was able to contribute quite usefully to, and learn from, a conversation about Orde Wingate’s Burma company the Chindits, on account of having read a book I bought from the Cartoon Museum.

When we got home I got into bed and read Plato’s Symposium followed by the Allegory of the Cave. Ferris Bueller reminds me Socrates. Atticus Finch is distinctly Socrates-like, as is Sodapop Curtis. Or maybe it’s the way they are adoringly revealed to us through the accounts of their acolytes. My eyes were opened to Greek homosexuality, the acceptable face of which seems to have involved what the translator calls lovers befriending and – importantly – mentoring and initiating younger boyfriends. The thing about Socrates was that he turned convention on its head, and the younger men regularly ended up wooing him. And he was hard work to woo. The Cave is a must-read for anybody involved in education – if only because it’s quoted so liberally by people trying to make one point or another.

Sunday I started booking our accommodation for the Cambrian Way, then left for the natural history museum in windy rain, where I met pregnant S, pregnant A, and their husbands, and their little two year olds Holly and Olly. It was really good to see the children – Holly is like Augustine’s Angle and very talkative and Olly is cautious and untrusting at first but also self-contained. I’m always just on the verge of making friends with him when we go our separate ways. Started reading Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations on the train.

Then I tried to get WW1 in cartoons from the Cartoon Museum, because WW2 was mind-blowingly good, but the Cartoon Museum is shut on Mondays.

Came home and Matt was re-insulating the loft after we removed most of the stuff for the electrician to rewire. This time we have fibreglass that stays in its bags. We almost got environmentally friendly stuff but then we didn’t (he found some half-price while he was at B&Q buying a £50 (!) strimmer. Booked most of the rest of the Cambrian Way, spoke to Gina, tended the first that Matt lit. It’s now 22:00 and the fire is dying. Shower and then either Leon Wieseltier or Marcus Aurelius, I’m torn.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s