Stalemate

Comic Relief night tonight. I'm sick of it.

This time two years ago I went to Elle's house to watch it. I left my bike in the car park. An almost brand new bike that I'd treated myself to.
By the time I left the house it had been hit by a car or vandalised or something. One wheel was pinned against the frame and the rear mudguard was gone. I had to carry it home which was at least a mile. It's never ridden the same since. Something with the gears. I keep taking it in and they keep checking it out, but it simply doesn't ride well anymore and as far as I'm concerned the gears are shot, however many times they tell me they're fine.

Two years and I'm still pissed off about it. It was such a beautiful bike when I first got it.

I have an ancestor who ran away from home. He was in his late twenties with a wife and children at the time. Went off to work one day and disappeared. Turned up on the doorstep about fifteen to twenty years later and was taken back in.

Turned out he'd hopped a ship to the New World, went up north for the gold rush, discovered it and became a millionaire, married and had a family, wasted his money on wine women and gambling and when he bacame poor again simply hopped a ship back to blighty.

His American progeny included a future mayor of Washington D.C.

Well, all I need is a gold rush.

My great aunt Ethel was another funny one. She was a Victorian dropout. Her dad sent her to work in service, she was allegedly caught stealing and sent back. Her dad handed her over to the police and she went to prison (Holloway?) from whence she escaped and set herself up as a Ukranian Gypsy or some such. Married several times, had several children, some of whom were taken by their father back to Sri Lanka I think it was. At some point she was living in a caravan with some guy from the BBC. Last heard of she was running a shop in Hammersmith.

My family is full of strange characters. It's also full of some extremely intelligent and wonderful people. Very often these are one and the same.

I wonder if they thought in the way that I think. Mum says I'm very like my Grandad but I never really new him, he was so ill from as long as I can remember, but I know he was a wonderful man.

I certainly haven't found anyone, except perhaps Hayley, who thinks like I think, but thinks in the way I thought several years ago at least. That's why I've always been so drawn to her, I recognise something in her, that until recently I wanted to nurture. Now I feel like why would I want anyone else to be the way I am, to think like me, it almost always ends up disastrous.

I suppose that actually I run along for a good few years with people before running into a wall, whereas some people run into walls constantly. But I feel with me it's inevitable, it's because of the way I am constructed that sooner or later it will happen. Whoever I'm with, whatever I'm doing. I keep in touch with no one from Bradford, must try and speak to Danny, occasional contact. Very few people from Halifax. No one from before that and the list seems incredibly small now from two years ago from Carlisle.

The one constant in all your failed relationships is you.

How accurate is that.

Does this mean that almost every realtionship, whether platonic or romantic, that I have, is doomed to fail at some point. Once that person discovers me beyond the appearance that I put out am I doomed to fail in their expectation of me.

The image everyone sees is concerned, willing, caring for all and sundry, unafraid to involve myself in their private affairs if I think I can help. This is what life has made me, because no one has ever done it for me. Yet I always have the suspicion myself that underneath all of that is the hardest nut in the world, that I don't actually care for anyone but myself, that if I truly wanted to, I could walk away from everyone who loves me and everything that I love. I wonder if I actually have feelings at all, whether my brain is so powerful that I simply override everything with logic. And then I feel guilty about that.

Ruth no doubt believes I quit her show for selfish reasons. I believe I quit the show in the best interests of both of us, but have I simply constructed that argument to justify a selfish act? I honestly do not know. And thus I feel guilty that it might have been a selfish act. I feel sure that it wasn't but I do not know.

I feel like this about all my judgements. Where do my thoughts end and my feelings begin? Have my thoughts simply constructed my feelings in an effort to dress up my unpalatable decisions? Have my feelings affected my judegement or my logic?

I wish I was more like Dale, uneducated. Thoughts are thoughts, feelings are feelings. Everything that happens is justified, he is always in the right and no thinking occurs. No challenging occurs.

I have arrived at the conclusion that challenging everything, questioning everything, is the only true way forward. The only true basis of knowledge and discovery. The excellent book, Teaching as a subversive activity, puts it succinctly, unfortunately I've lent it to Elle, so I can't quote from it.

I challenge everything, even my own mind. I've always done it, but it is only recently, since I read the book, that I have become aware of what I do and why I do it.

The wise man knows, only that he knows nothing, goes the old axiom. I can't decide whether that is true or not. I feel like God, for God must know everything, and therefore he must challenge his every move himself, for no one else will. Surely he too would be paralysed by the conflict of thought and feeling, a paradox that cannot be resolved. A chess player playing against only himself, both sides in stalemate.

That is the price of understanding. Me and him together. I really wish I did know nothing.

On a lighter note, Dr Who is returning to the telly. A few weeks. Really can't wait.

Lik

Not a good time.

Spent the day in college waiting to see John at 5. Arrived at 1 to return stuff to Ruth.

Both meetings were formalities which was annoying.

Tried to avoid feeling guilt. Failed utterly. Nothing to be done. The decision was the right one.

Spent the day reading Nabokov. Four short stories. Incredibly good and full of fantastic quotes:

"And what about God? Did or did not people who would resent any omnipotent dictator on earth look forward to one in heaven?"

"(actually, in diurnal life, she was a small dumpy creature resembling a mummified guinea pig)"

Two fantastic observations from The Vane Sisters

However I was struck by the story Lik. Lik is a "moderately talented" actor, he doesn't drink and has an inherited heart condition that will kill him. He fails to understand people and spends extravagent amounts of money on himself on pretty items that get broken.

This could be an almost picture perfect description of myself. There are some differences, I am not as timid as Lik, I am not Russian, however I have always been drawn to the Russians, my temperament might be described as Russian.

Nabokov did an excellent charachterisation with Lik, I recognised a lot of myself in him, a coincidence surely. Of course.

Another great Nabokov quote, said of Lik

"Loneliness as a situation can be corrected, but as a state of mind it is an incurable illness."

I feel sick.

It's absolutely true. I seek out loneliness. I desire it yet hate it. It is my state of mind.

I don't understand the paradox but I've known for a long time. I rang Sabs and invited her over but no. She's a loner as well, though I don't know how much of that is bravado she puts on about it. She talks about getting a cat, the way she is, she'll never even have her own flat.

Perhaps that is why I'm latching on to her now more than anyone else, though she doesn't realise I am.

She's been alone. Even if she wasn't she's felt alone. It's the most terrifying thing in the world. That's why I always tried to be around as much as I could.

Because I've been further. I embraced being alone. I nearly comitted suicide and I nearly went insane but those couple of months at the end of Bradford and in Wales were the most terrifying yet liberating of my life. I faced down being alone, and won. I feel like I'm facing that again now, possibly on a permanent basis, for the rest of my life. I feel that if Sabs was with me, we could face that, alone perhaps but together. An awfully big adventure.

Of course, I presume a lot about Sabs and I don't think she ever would. But she might. I can't think of anyone else I could do it with. Anyone else, except perhaps Hayley (but that'd never happen) I'd have to be conventional.

See although wandering off into the sunset yonder with nothing except yourself scares me half to death, it also intrigues me, beckons me. I would like nothing better than to just wander off and just be forgotten about. Tramp my way around the world, see things that no one other person could ever hope to see.

Would I ever have the courage to just drop everything and live on my ingenuity and art? I feel like it might be a part of my future someday. Not immediately, but someday, and if it did happen I'd want to take Sabs, to share the experience. But she never would. She needs safety.

A girl, almost certainly Sian, was crying in the toilet earlier. I wanted to go and comfort her but I didn't feel I had the right, that I would be intruding. If it was Sian, then it is for Dave to comfort her. Dave was nice to me today, not that he isn't usually, perhaps noticed is a better word. He usually doesn't. He invited me down for a film. I said I would but never did. Was not in the mood for house company, none of them know what's going on with me. To be honest they aren't much more than acquaintances, which is how I wanted it when I moved in. Wanted some privacy. Still do, but I could kill for some company now. Someone who cares for me as I am, rather than makes conversation for the sake of it. I don't know how many people like that are left for me.

Lizzie did invite me paintballing next weekend. Accepted at once. She's a lovely girl. Be nice to spend some time around her.

Also ran into Natalia today, in a completely random place.

Mum and Katy coming up Saturday. Really glad.

Have to write my monologue. Thinking of calling it 'Once when he lost himself.'

Too tired.

This is Lik saying goodnight.

The Waiting Room

So I quit Ruth's play and it is, almost certainly, not now going on. Ruth hates my guts.

Not that I was given a chance to explain. I was intending to tell her today which would give me time to sound out some possible replacements, except Lucy told Ruth I wanted to speak to her last night. So phone call at 11pm, her in Fats or wherever, can't really hear each other. She insists on knowing, hangs up on me. Now she won't speak to me.

Sod her.

When Aron dropped out of Hamlet, all but destroying it, I didn't fall out with him. I listened to his reasons, accepted them. When Debbie put the final nail in the coffin I was the same, even though my heart was being torn to pieces, I didn't blame them. Refused to. Every bloody day of my life I spend trying to understand other people, absorbing all the shit that they need to push onto someone else. Even this decision was tipped by the balance that in the long run it would be better for Ruth.

Yet she thinks I dropped her in the shit for my own selfish reasons. We've been good friends for a year at least, all she has ever seen me do is look out for other people, yet one decision which unfortunately at the moment affects her badly and I become a selfish bastard.

Sod her. If she knew me at all, she'd know that if anything, I need to be more selfish.

Her housemate Dee rang me up after Ruth hung up. She said we'd met before but I don't think we have. At the beginning of our conversation she was on the warpath. When I'd actually done some explaining she really didn't know what to do. I ended up being "in her bad books" and that it looked like I was being a selfish bastard. Which I wholeheartedly admit it does, but she was surprised to discover that it was not as black and white as it seemed. At the end of our conversation I felt she was supporting Ruth only because she knew her and not me. Which is perfectly acceptable, stand by your friends.

But sod her anyway, for even thinking that not just me, but anyone, would take such a decision based purely on selfishness.

Has anyone ever stood by me?

If it came to it I know Mike, Martin, Mark and Bob would, without question. Scott and Carl maybe. Even if they knew I was wrong they are people who would back me up as a friend.

This isn't about right and wrong, I know perfectly well when I am in the wrong, but I don't think I have any other friends in Carlisle who would just back me to the hilt. I used to think there were others, but their aren't, Hayley, Georgia, Deb, Sabs, Elle would question me or my motives. I don't really know about anyone else, I barely see anyone anymore.

About four months ago I was said to be the most trustworthy person on the course. I think that reputation went for a burton a long time ago.

And so we come back down to me, just me. No one can help me because I don't ask people for help. No one can understand me because the instant they see something they don't like they turn and run. They want me for what I can give to them, I don't expect anything in return for that, yet the instant that the relationship begins to flow the other way they cannot give anything.

Somehow it's ten times as bad that a good person suddenly seems to have a human failing, whether real or imagined. That one mistake of a good person, even if they have to choose between two equally bad mistakes, can permanently destroy everything that has gone before. And yet people who's failings are all too evident, who constantly let others down and do it remorselessly can somehow continue to endear themselves, that we forgive their each and every misdeed.

And so I become bitter and so the tide changes.

And the lines become blurred so that I don't even understand myself why I did what I did. I only know it was the right choice, for both of us, even if she doesn't realise it.

Did I do it for the right reasons? I feel I did. I remember I did. But now I am not so sure. I am capable of selfishness, of jealousy, of hatred, of depression, of all the terrible things that make up a man. But I am capable also of those that make a man worthy, love, honour, faith, incisiveness, confidence.

I am right. I was right. Does this mean I am right or that I am conceited?

Every feeling, every situation, every minute; is seen in a thousand different ways. There is no such thing as fact. There is only what we believe to have occured. We must make assumptions, put ourselves in other people's shoes, view everything from every angle, and even then, we can only create odds. We can only believe in what we see. What we hear and touch.

Because I know this above all things, I know more than others. I know that I retrace every angle, while others simply follow their eyes. I know too that this is a conceit. But I can see out of every pair of eyes, they cannot. This is why I am right. Why above others, I am right. Why, despite being conceited, I am not neccesarily wrong. Why, even if my decisions may hurt some, hurt myself, they are never illogical, they never fail to take others into account even if they cannot see it.

I feel that educated people in general think like this. People with the capacity and the ability to think beyond their own sphere. Is this elitist? Of course. This does not mean that it is not neccesarily true.

I feel like I do not know very many educated people.

Two

Feel utterly bloody trapped.

After Hamlet collapsed I agreed to do Ruth's project. Two. However, every rehearsal we have now we just spend argueing. Some of it is my fault and some of it is her fault. She has a very set idea of how this play should be, yet she has given me equal directorial responsibility. So every single thing I come up with leads to an argument. If it was just her directing, I'd be fine, do as I am told. Not paricularly well, but I could do it. She says I argue for the sake of arguing and simply because she has an idea, I do argue for the sake of arguing but I do worry with how she talks about certain things, that she is going on decisions taken from previous performances of the show, rather than coming to the text fresh and allowing me to make my own decisions about the characters. Now I feel utterly trapped. Rehearsals are hell to get through. I do my utmost to be amenable but I feel now that my style of acting, of getting to grips with the character, which involves trying out new things is being impeded, that anything I try and suggest will be taken as a pretext for an argument because it goes against what Ruth has in her head. Even things I thought I'd successfully argued for have disappeared. Yesterday I said that at least some part of the set needs to be on rostra because I have to do a backwards pratfall over a chair. If this is not on a rostra I will blow my head open on the concrete theatre floor. Yet today when I was talking about where I thought we had agreed there would be rostra she did not seem to know what I was talking about.

We had an argument about whether we should charge for entry. She had already decided it should be free in. I said I thought we should charge. At least that one I won, I can't afford to pay £50 quid into the budget and not get anything back.

Now she expects us to learn about four pages of dialogue by tomorrow. I'm not sure I can be bothered any more. What seemed like a fun, little play to do at the start, now seems like a horrendous great piece of monolithic junk. I feel like I want to quit but that if I do I might as well just call off mine and Ruth's friendship, it would be a terrible betrayal. Especially considering what has gone on before. So do I carry on as I always do and put someone else's feelings before mine, allow myself to do a crap job because I will not feel that I am acting true to the character but being railroaded into someone else's vision of it. Or do I just walk out. Destroy Ruth's dream as mine was destroyed. Leave her in the shit. She's done nothing to deserve that. Yet this is why I am always depressed, I always give in. I always put myself out for someone else. Never think of oneself above another. This time, I truly feel like I would be heaping stupidity upon stupidity by carrying on like this, the way I'm being asked to rehearse.

I would argue with any director, Ruth thinks it's just her but I will argue with any director if I believe they are trying to push a charcter in a way they should not go. Especially seeing as I am supposed to be equal to her in directing. To then find that things are already set short of actual blocking, and any suggestion or attempt to discover the reason just sets of an argument. I don't doubt that I am an argumentative person and that some of this is my fault, Ruth accepts that some of it is her fault, but she gets so het up and it turns into an argument when I mean it just to be a discussion, I wouldn't bother if I did not have a good reason.

She feels that she is giving in every time, and I feel exactly the same way. We are intractable. Our ways of working are so completely different, I felt I was criticised for how I act, well, however she would like me to act, I must work how I work, otherwise I might as well quit now. Ruth works completely different to me, she has to have everything in performance exactly the way it is in rehearsal otherwise she will lose it. I can't work like that. The rehearsals are a guide they are the blueprint for the spontaneity of the performance, because otherwise I might as well be a puppet. The rehearsals are there for me to try out everything possible, to vary each time until you get a perfect fit. They are a process of creation, not simply to mould the cogs to a certain size to fit the machine which is how I see Ruth working the rehearsals. She says that all directors need actors to work in this way, yet I've never had a problem before. Georgia's show, I was experimenting with accents right up until the opening night. I simply couldn't get what I wanted, but I had to try, Georgia and Elle had no problem, they simply trusted me. As did Stefan, Leachy and John. David did try and control me. I don't think he succeeded though. It was my first real piece of acting. I think eventually he just let me carry on as I had to. I feel why can't Ruth just trust me on these characters. I don't think she will be as flexible as David, she can't let me carry on as I have to because she will see it as giving in to me, letting me win on her project.

She said I disregard the director and go off on my own on the night. I agree that yes sometimes I do that, in fact I do it quite a bit, but when you have an audience you allow them to carry you. Case in point, her last show. The first night, the audience were quiet and I performed, as I had rehearsed. I felt like it was a dreadful performance. I simply wasn't in it. The second night was brilliant, the audience were responsive and that allowed me to respond, I took it further, higher, gave one of the best performances of my life. Ruth had told me not to show emotion, that second night I ignored that completely and for that it was a better show, I feel sure that Ruth would agree, between the two nights the second was better, even if it wasn't what she wanted. To blindly follow, to ignore the opportunities the audience affords you, to be unable to vary even a slight movement of the hand is what causes performances to die, to drag. This was made very clear to me over the summer. It is what Ruth is asking me to do. It's only two nights but I cannot perform like that. I know that that is how she works. I cannot.

Looking at that last bit I feel that carrying on as we are, even beyond all the arguments, our different ways of working will end up leaving us with a mess. I honestly don't know how we can get beyond it, short of bringing in a seperate director which Ruth is loathe to do, or seceeding everything to her and just getting on with it as best I can, which she would also hate because that would seem like leaving all the work to her and I would hate because, like in Debbie's play, I'd feel like I had no access to the things that make me a performer. I'd just be saying lines, moving where I had to move. Ideally I would like to call the whole thing off right now, go back to writing my monologue. I honestly feel straitjacketed by Ruth's style and she obviously feels like I am trying to control everything. Even if we did both completely understand each other, I don't see that either of us would be able to adapt well enough to alleviate the situation.

Rehearsals are bad, I find myself being trapped at such an early stage, where I want to experiment, thus I find I can't work on the character, thus she thinks I'm not trying, which makes things worse.

I cannot act in a straitjacket. At the same time, I cannot do to her what was done to me. How in God's name did I find myself in this situation. My degree or my friend.

Thing is, if I fail to do as well as I can do in this show, it's not just my degree that suffers but also Ruth's. If I do pull out, she may need to cut a bit more but she can find a good actor, someone who can work well with her. She would have five weeks to get them up to speed. It's not as if I've made much progress. Of course, she may be unable to do that, the third years all have projects they need to work on, the first and second years all have classes.

How can I possibly pull out, how can I possibly stay?

I need to make a decision tonight, she asked me how I felt about doing the play today, I said I was fine.

Shit shit shit shit.
John's probably gone home so I can't even talk to him for advice.


So ruddy tired.

Went to see The Good, The Bad and The Ugly at the cinema yesterday. Turned up five minutes late. Had no one to go with and felt alone. Nearly didn't go. Glad I did. The print was awful, scenes disappeared. and then from the shoot out in the deserted town, to the shoot out at the graveyard it was perfect.

Two incredible pieces of acting, Eli Wallech as Tuco. A petty bandit who goes to see his brother, the friar of a monastery. His brother tells him of the death of his parents, how they longed for him to be there. Tuco falls against a wall hiding his emotion, then snaps back, now anger, they blame each other. Blows, then Tuco leaves and is back to his old self making jokes to Blondey, but you can still see the pain in his eyes.

Then Blondey and Tuco roll up to a battlefield, the North and South, both fighting for control of a bridge. The drunkard Captain of the North sees his men killed, day in, day out. All he wants is to see the bridge destroyed. It haunts him. In the last attack he is fatally wounded. Blondey and Tuco see him and you can see the compassion in Clint Eastwood's eyes, usually steel and unemotional. With barely a word, Blondey and Tuco take hold of a box of explosives and head out into pitched cannon fire to blow the bridge.

And of course Morricone's score. Surely the greatest composer of the twentieth century. A bit I had forgotten, where Tuco runs around the graveyard, the score was magnificent. Must get hold of it.

Must ring Linz tonight. Might have to go round, don't want to, am so tired, haven't really wanted to speak to anyone in such a long time; Addy, Pam, Glen, Gavin, Neil, Mooney, Naomi. All people I need to ring, stay in contact with and I haven't.

Invited Sabs round this evening. Will have to ring her, she has no credit. Hope she does, but knowing her she won't, she's like me. She's about the only person I feel I can talk to at the moment, even tho I mostly listen. Her and Mike for some reason. But I barely ever see him.

He gave me some Dr. Zeus CD's, I tried to pay him for them but he wouldn't hear of it. Must listen to them.

Felt like crap this morning. Will feel like crap tomorrow morning too. Hate waking up late. I've started falling asleep in the early evenings and then being wide awake throughout the night. Not good.

Begun to dream again as well, sleeping on the floor, I tend to stir when my alarms go off and so when I do wake up I remember my dreams. Haven't had any for so many years it's a novelty. Cand remember any of them except that in one, a silver merry go round music box thing with the inscription Comic Relief 2001 was the most emotional thing I had ever witnessed, this dream being set in the year 2500 or something, after some terrible war or something like that. I woke up in tears. All I wanted was this merry go round with Comic Relief etched on it, it meant so much, world peace or something.

Need to ring Samuel French. Too late now, have to do it tomorrow morning.

Italy's Tragedy

God bless and keep Nicola Callipari. A martyr to the needless and senseless killing of war. We train soldiers to be killers, why has no one realised this. Set killers loose in a war with which they can kill with impunity, inflict pain with impunity, have power with impunity and innocent people will die. The man was a hero, he died, needlessly, in saving another. America needs to bring these killers to justice. All armed forces everywhere need to examine themselves for they are all implicit in creating and training professional killers. This is wrong.

The Future

Have been thinking of my future. I can do this teaching postgrad, I'd enjoy it. I can use the money to buy myself a boat. And then I want a field. In this field I will build a shed, or small building, solar panelled for energy. I can set myself up a little den for working. The field will have a vegetable garden and a flower garden. I can plant some trees and let the rest grow into a meadow. I can build stables for the horse that I will have. That would make me happy.

Wandered round town yesterday, ran into Ed who wasn't feeling too good. We bought Futurama on video. The first and third seasons for £12. That's what I enjoy about DVD. Video's are so cheap nowadays. We went to doughnuts for food and walked back. I got a nosebleed.

There is nothing more humiliating than having a nosebleed in public, especially mine which are just terrible. I get them quite a bit in summer because of the pressure, very rarely in winter or spring but that's two in a week or so. Ed fished out a hankey that he had bought for a prop in Blasted and gave it to me. I was very grateful.

Fell asleep watching futurama and roused myself in time to head to Sabs'. She seemed happy enough and we had a good night out. A quiet night, which I was grateful for, despite the Geordies who have formed their own little fanclub for me. It's quite sweet really. Every time I went to dance I got cheered onto the floor.

I don't know what I feel for Sabs'. I care for her a lot but she would have nothing but scorn for me if she thought I was her friend out of love or pity. I just think she deserves a better chance at life, Linz too, neither of them really had much choice as to where they are now, victims of circumstance buffeted by other people's failures. They have their shortcomings as everyone does, but society fails to allow for theirs in particular. I wish I could offer both of them more than what I do, help them start again, but I need to be in a financial position where I can help to support them, and also they would need to take a risky leap, from the barely survivng but familiar world to a completely unfamiliar, unpredictable world. I wish I could persuade Sabs' at least, to show her what life really is worth. There are signs she is getting better, she at least acknowledges that she now has to get a job. She simply hasn't got enough money to pay the rent and feed herself properly. I worry.

The Lords have rejected the terror bill, the one about house arrest. Judges have to be involved they say. It goes back to the Commons. I really really hope we get shot of the whole blasted lot of Labour. At this point I am ready to settle for anyone else, even the Tories. Labour have lost every single value they might have ever had. It's not just Blair, I hated his government from the moment they were installed but I didn't realise just how liberal the original cabinet were compared with the disciples to Blair that now inhabit the posts. Remember Frank Dobson, Robin Cook, Michael Meacher, Mo Mowlam, Clare Short, all good people. I wasn't neccesarily a fan of their policies (except Meacher's) but at least they were working for the good of the country. The current cabinet may say they are still doing so but it is the biggest load of tripe. They are working for the good of Blair.

Computer Dreams

I pinpointed my feelings on Deb's pregnancy. Same I had when Naomi told me she had got married. A sense that life is passing me by. I felt that on Saturday but not any more. I am increasingly being drawn to the works of Bruce Chatwin, that kind of loneliness of the traveller. I have the itching foot and feel I must go. I have a few months left here and at least a year in Leeds. Mum has found a teaching postgrad for which I would get paid £6000. Deadline is August. I think I would actually enjoy that. It would set me well financially. I have absolutely no intention to enter teaching professionally however. The government fails again. I'm taking the money and running. It can at the very least get me a boat that's livable on. I would be happy with that. No worries about housing.

I have taken to the library for a daily fix of writing. I only get an hour here which is annoying but will do until the net is restored at home. I am glad of this, it helps to soothe me. It allows me to write that which I could not do by hand. I do keep a handwritten journal. It has about a dozen entries over two years. I could never have thought of writing as a career if I had been born at another time. I simply do not have the discipline for prolongued hand writing. Even now, I find it much easier to enter into this diary than to continue with my novel, which I have restarted yet again. About five different beginnings in as many years, but this time I think I have finally come to an understanding about the art that will allow me to continue. But it is a slow process.

Today has so far been leisurely, the best of many weeks. Woke about ten to find that Ruth was ill and rehearsal was cancelled. Stayed in bed and read until twelve until I ventured here to write. The only downside being that I cannot quote from what I have read. Quite a pleasantly warm day, although I have no doubt that it will chasten later. It is ironic that Carlisle has escaped the snow that has stopped most of the country these past couple of weeks. I cannot wait for the summer however. I keep catching myself admiring my tan. It is one of the best aspects, I feel, of inhabiting this particular body. My tan's last for years. My first tan I remember, I must have got about 3 years of age. In the valleys we would be outside constantly running around on the mountains even at such an early age, it was true freedom. I had that tan at least until I was nine or ten. It was a proper tan, a gold rather than a brown. I've always been proud of it.

Why oh why am I lost in these pallid winter and early spring months. Come summer I know my life shall once again become jam packed with work. I long for blue sky, a worthy heat. A sun that burns. Of course I know that as soon as these things come around the heat will exhaust me and trouble my sleep and I will wish for winter. I feel alone again.

Going to Sabs' this evening and we will go clubbing. She seems to be alone too, although she does not show it. She has her family and a few people. She is, like all women are now, someone who hates to show emotion. I am like that also, but I wish I could.
She is so painfully thin. When I sleep with her I can feel her ribs.

Ray calls her a Jew, presumably as a friendly insult. From reading diaries today, I was struck by how people see someone and draw inferences. How can they tell a Jew if they do not wear the clothes? Leon was Jewish but he had to tell me so. Now that I think, I can see the similarities between him and Sabs, who couldn't be less interested in religion if she tried. Ray looks as Jewish as any of them but probably has as much Gypsy blood as anything.

I feel that my face would have been considered handsome in the Edwardian era. Striking even. I personally consider myself handsome now, but only when I shave and bother with vanity and that is rarely. I wander about with my left eyebrow almost permanently raised. I consider my face a lot, I do not think I would swap it for another, it is not a face that can show my feelings and emotions. It is thin and high and my eyes are permanently hidden behind spectacles. It is rigid and uneffusive and faintly ridiculous but I have become attached to it. It is me and it becomes me more than any other could have.

I wish to talk of many other things, of politics, religion, friends and enemies but time runs short and I must adjourn until my next opportunity.