I’m brimming with words, this morning, but I’m also inapanicbecauseshortoftime for the next fortnight or so. This, I find, makes it difficult to slow down enough to consider what I write; and frustrated because I need my ideas to appear fully formed and perfect because I haven’t got time to tinker, revamp, etc. Ah well, let’s just see how this goes.

‘The past’ because I’ve been thinking about the past in different kinds of ways, recently. I miss my study often, acutely. I miss the idea of my study, and I miss having a room of my own which I can arrange as I please, where I can keep and access my books, where I can pace the floor or listen to the radio without disturbing other people; and, probably most importantly, which has a door I can close on other people’s noise; I miss all a personal study stands for, and sometimes I miss living alone.

Then too, we’ve just booked a long weekend in Liverpool, and in March will be staying just around the corner from the flat I had in L8 for years, not far from Lark Lane. I feel oddly excited at seeing certain places again: Sefton Park, where I walked daily with my dog; the Inner Temple in L1, where I worked for a year. I’d like too, to visit the Everyman Theatre again, and if it’s still possible, the Bistro there, scene of many strange, funny, intellectual conversations, and the odd, awkward departmental gathering. I shall be sad to find the Cafe Berlin has disappeared – it’s where I and the best friend I shall ever have held our Last Liverpool Party, just before I moved north. I’m also looking forward to just walking along streets I know well. I’m worried though, that it’ll all be massively uninteresting for Himself, and worried also about meeting people I ought to contact while in the area, but actually don’t really want to, because I can’t bear the thought of lurching through conversations which have no heart. and I’m worried because I’ll have to leave my dog in kennels and she’s really too old for this.

I was up and out very early, today, taking Himself to the station to catch a train for Dundee, as he’s going to the funeral of a friend, this morning. The friend died last Tuesday. He had cancer. Although I didn’t know him very well, having met him only two or three times, I’ve been knocked off balance by his death. He was kind; and he somehow managed to make people feel important. We were ‘dancing partners’ at parties, and I shall – I do – miss him.

And more on the past, because I finished reading The Spaewife for the third time, on Friday, and I am grappling with Galt on history. Was he, I wonder, thinking about the way, when writing historical fiction (or theoretical history), certain events are fixed, and so events and states of affairs prior to these fixed points seem to be ordained? Is that where Providence comes in? I also found a review of The Spaewife by Scott, in which he refers to the difference between his historical fiction and that of others, which I think might prove useful although I need to read it again. I’m now reading The Omen. Short and compelling – and I need to finish it this morning.

Which thought brings me back to the present.