Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Wet, stars and Lark Rise.

1. The smell of woods after it's been raining.

2. Spotting six-pointed stars moulded on the drainpipes at the Church of King Charles the Martyr.

3. Lark Rise to Candleford. Flora Thompson's autobiography is a very readable account of farm labourer's life at the end of the 19th century. My father introduced me to it when I was about seven or eight and it was probably one of the first 'proper' books I ever read. I'm not sure why he lent it to me - possibly because I'd been reading Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House books - but I was very impressed by its thickness, and I remember being puzzled by a paragraph about a bull 'justifying his existence'. I loved the accounts of children's games, too.

Conference morning, break time and memory.

1. Waking up in a huge snow-crisp hotel bed, rather keyed up, but ready for a day in the company of other editors. 2. I take a moment to sit...