Monday, 7 November 2011
Living in burrows
I am struggling with The Hobbit. Is it because they live in burrows? The language is laborious and terribly old fashioned. I will keep you posted on this one. I found myself flying into a rage the other day at a seminar on underground houses which seemed to me to beg virtually every necessary question about the 'free spirits' who get together (on benefits?) to tunnel into south-facing hillsides in Fife and New Mexico. I am going to visit the protesters outside St Paul's towards the end of the month to see and hear them for myself, since - for better or worse - their encampment seems to have provoked a crisis in the Church of England, to which I belong by virtue of my education (Portsdown Lodge, alma mater of the late Loulou de la Falaise; Benenden and St George's School, Switzerland, where I was confirmed). I listen to Songs of Praise on Sunday afternoon and attend services two or three times a year. I wonder if there is a chapel or church at Center Parcs where my family and I are going to spend Christmas this year. Our Lady of the Heated Pool in the Pine Trees? Other works I have downloaded onto my Kindle are: The Father Brown Stories by G K Chesterton and this year's Booker prize winner: The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes. I looked at page one and the omens are not good.