Too many irons; too many fires?

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 I am a very busy man, Anna. But I ask myself: have I got too many irons in too many fires?
Perhaps I would be better with just one iron - in one fire?

Yes, I am sorry we did not - as you say - consummate our meeting. You know that normally I would not begrudge paying £60 for a couple of hours in a Travel Lodge with you, but, as you know, fiscal problems loom large at the moment.

And please note that Mrs Bulstrode and I enjoy a simple landlady/lodger relationship.

I am impressed with your taking the high road to education. Also your choice of degree. I think I have told you that Sociology was the gateway to my career in academia. One never stops learning - that's my philosophy.

You say you intend to follow the same career path as myself. Go for it, girl. Naturally I will give you all the help and guidance you need and I will be proud when you become a 'blue stocking'.

You know I told you I was worried about my son Sydney. Well I still haven't heard from him - not since he was remanded in custody. Has he perhaps written to you? You were always his favourite.  I know he is most grateful (and so am I) for straightening him out - regarding his sexuality, I mean.

You asked me why do I write?

Well, There’s a lot to write about.

Someone asked Magritte what was the relationship between his life and his art. He said that he couldn’t really think of any, except that “…life obliges me to do something, so I paint.”

If someone were to ask me why I write, I think my answer would be very similar, except that I might add “… and there’s a lot to write about.”

I have been writing for as long as I can remember. I still have a couple of those tiny diaries aunts used to give their young nephews; you could only get a few words in the space allowed for a day, but I managed to get something down most days.

A few years after we had been married, my wife found a diary with an entry… “Doped Vanda’s wings.” For some reason she found this hilarious, but when I read it I was transported back in time. The ‘Vanda’ was a glider (I was a very keen aeromodeller) and what those three words told me was that on that particular day I had applied two coats of water-proofing 'dope' to the model’s wings. Not only could I smell again the heavy ‘pear-drop’ vapour, I could feel the brush in my hands, hear the lovely shushing sound it made as it stroked the thick gluey liquid onto the fabric, see the finished model in all its glory

That, for me, is the wonder of words, the power  of writing: to capture images, to preserve them.

Of course it is much more than bringing back the past, re-living memories. It is about expressing what I feel about the present, about what is happening to me, right here and now. It’s also about looking towards the future, setting down hopes and dreams.

I have heard it suggested that some  people are too busy doing things to write about them, and that others write about things instead of doing them. But why cannot one do both? That’s what I says. You can then get a secondary pleasure writing about what you’ve done – or what you are going to do. I also think that writing about what you have done helps you to understand why you did it – sometimes. And writing about what you are going to do may help you to get it straight in your mind – you might also decide that it’s not worth doing. Or you may decide that you really have to do it.

So I write.  And I hope somebody gets something out of what I write. Even if it is a small circle of friends.

Books (and poems) have helped me to understand that I am not alone… that my thoughts are not crazy… that someone else has thought like this… had these problems… shared this fear…laughed at this… cried at that.

So I write and I write...

It's half-term. Why don't you come down here and we can have a few days together. I know a charming hotel in Swindon. I expect you are now in receipt of your student loan?

Let me know, soonest.

George