I Am Not Up To This. I

…surprised All Over Again At How Very Comforting Very Bad Food Can Be.

She Realises That If She Is To Save The Show She Is Going To Have To Improvise A Rousing Speech, One Of The Many Henry V Moments That Make Up Her Working Life.

A Moment Passed, Perhaps Half A Second When Their Faces Said What They Felt, And Then Emma Was Smiling, Laughing, Her Arms Around His Neck.

Maybe I've Just Read Too Many Novels. In Novels, Alcoholics Are Always Attractive And Fuuny And Charming And Complex, Like Sebastian Flyte Or Abe North In Tender In The Night, And They're Drinking Because Of A Deep, Unquenchable Sadness Of The Soul, Or The Terrible Legacy Of The First World War, Whereas I Just Get Drunk Because I'm Thirsty, And I Like The Taste Of Lager.

I Read A Lot Of F. Scott Fitzgerald. I Love 'tender Is The Night,' And Its Atmosphere Of Doomed Romance. He Was One Of The Greatest Prose Stylists, With A Wonderfully Clear But Lyrical Quality.