Well, not so fast. The rhinoceros has gone back to grazing, no longer incensed at my failing literature. Rats. But I’ll push on; this book has got to be
written.
During coffee hour
in church this past Sunday, an acquaintance gave me a collection of those thin
booklets a visitor can buy at castles and cathedrals in England. (She knows I'm an anglophile.)
These are old ones printed in the fifties and sixties. With them came a
big road map of England,
obviously used, probably from the same era.
(I really need to have a long talk with her about a long tour she must
have taken; I lived in England from 1966 to 1968, and while I did a lot of
exploring, she went to places - Knole in Kent, for example - I missed.) I
am looking forward to reading these booklets, which are very well written .
The texts are so very English, eloquent, understated, educated - unmistakable. I am awash in nostalgia.
1 comment:
It is difficult writing when there is work being done around you. I was rushing to make a deadline with workmen over head putting on our roof. You have my sympathy.
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