Tuesday, 14 October 2008
Would have been down at the Booker tonight to celebrate or console Linda (celebrate whatever the result, I say), or rather at Groucho's afterwards, but a cold, plus a late 6.30 finish to my last class, meant arriving in London at about 10.00, a quick overnight stay before zooming back for a PhD annual review in the current state of exhaustion... Linda must forgive me. She will get a big bunch of flowers either way. Big and bigger.
C has just finished a picture for my 2009 book, The Burning of the Books and Other Poems. Looks very good. Books are, not to put too fine a point on it, burning. Soon there will be so much of me in book form there won't be any room for anyone else on the shelves of good bookshops. I shall rule in supreme, indeed splendid, isolation. I shall read myself, review myself, buy myself, remainder myself, immolate and bury myself. Farewell self.
Except for Cambridge University Library, who are putting on a show of my various literary extrusions and contusions. John W of the University Library has just sent me a list of exhibits with notes. The exhibition goes up on Thursday and opens on Friday. I can now make an exhibition of myself. Or, rather, the Library can. If anyone is interested there is a letter there from John Betjeman.'Come friendly bombs and fall on George...' Nobody, but nobody, could be famouser than that. I wear dark glasses even when looking in the bathroom mirror. I prefer to remain anonymous to myself.
Next week I'm off to solve the Middle East crisis. That's after I have loaned the Bank of England a few billion. They generally pay.