failure gives us a marvellous excuse to disengage from attachments we have but wish we didn’t
I think there is an imp in me that wants to get booted out of the academy for good, and keeps returning with surprise when it doesn’t happen.
A Christmas or two ago J.’s mother gave me some medieval polyphony that had come by chance into her hands: Ockeghem’s Missa mi-mi, sung by the Dutch, which I now listen to when I’m agitated for no reason. Or I go for a walk. Today is cold and bright and fairly dry, which reminds me of something, and that’s the weird thing about getting older, that suddenly all you can do is be reminded of things.