Life is like a pencil

Life is like a pencil: there’s no point to it, unless you put one there yourself.

I thought of that this morning, on the lavatory. I get a lot of my ideas in the bathroom. A psychiatrist once told me, I had “the philosopher’s temperament”. I think I also have the “philosopher’s bowel”.

I was also told I had been abused as a child. I don’t know about that but I have certainly been abused as an adult.

But let us not dwell upon the past; it is a lovely July morning and “the corn is as high as an elephant’s eye.”

Poor people always look better in summer. Have you noticed? On the streets, I mean. They don’t seem quite so bedraggled. Perhaps it’s because they don’t need as many clothes. Also, I suppose it is healthier for them.

I am reading a book at the moment: “The Shock Doctrine” by Naomi Klein. Pretty scary. Is this what “the free market” is really like? It gives one a whole new perspective on Iraq and the “war on terror”.

In fact my reading of this book gave rise to a contretemps in the bedroom last night. Norah was looking for a bit of… well, you know… attention. And I had just reached page 106 where Naomi is talking about how the Chilean junta in the sixties targeted the leadership of trade unions active in the factories and the large ranches.
I said to her ‘Look, this is an important book – you should read it yourself.’
‘I don’t want to read it.’ she replied crossly.
‘Why not?’ I was getting angry. ‘I mean it’s not as if you’re stupid.’(She’s not; she has a PhD in philology – the same as Joseph Goebbels had. Only his was from Heidelberg, while Norah got hers from the University of East Anglia. No matter – a doctorate is a doctorate.

‘Do you love me?’ she asked.
‘Of course I love you – you silly cow’, I murmured endearingly, if somewhat distractedly (I had lost my place in the book).

She flounced out of the room and went to sleep in the old nursery.

I just do not understand women.

My ex wife, Georgina, once bought me a book: “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus”.
I said ‘Why have you bought me this? You know I don’t believe all that extra-terrestrial stuff.’
She said ‘Read it. It’s about us.’
I skimmed through it. It seemed to be about how men were different from women. Well, I could have told him that.

But that’s the thing about books, isn’t it: you could pick up the general idea in the first couple of pages, but they have to go on and on, giving more and more examples (it’s even true of old Naomi’s book, the one I was telling you about) to ram their point home. I feel like saying ‘Alright, alright, I get the message – now can you tell me what to do about it?’

They never can. Or am I being too hard on them? Me being an author myself?

I’m a bit depressed this morning. I mean, I know I began by saying Life is like a pencil, and you have got to make your own point. But it can be really difficult some mornings.