Sometimes when I’m in the mood, I jot down thoughts and ideas for the blog. So right now, I have several interesting, witty things with which to update, but I don’t have time to craft the posts. Mainly because
So instead, The Intention this week was to post up more in The Series of Shite I Wrote As A Child. However, a lot of pictures for this are on The Phone, and The Computer has decided to take after me and is being a complete ARSEHOLE. It now refuses to accept that The Phone exists, so while I work out these technical difficulties…
…here’s a quick post to keep a space filled.
I’m currently reading The Life Of Charlotte Brontë by Elizabeth Gaskell.
Although it is a little dry in places, I cannot put it down, as I feel drawn to Charlotte Brontë’s life. Maybe in the same way that my increasingly dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre keeps reappearing in my hand when I’m supposed to be doing other things.
Anyway, the biography is an infuriating book at times, one for being full of hints and assumptions, never laying anything in the concrete, because most of the people mentioned in it were still alive at the time of writing, so Gaskell had to be careful of libel, and two for having great swathes of French in it with no English translation. I haven’t been able to follow a word of the relationship between Charlotte and M. Héger just because I’m too stupid to be able to read a word of a language I spent five and half years studying.
But The Main Feeling is that it is so depressing (so given The Current Mental State, is probably the wrong choice of book). When
was about my age, she said thus: Charlotte
My youth is leaving me ; I can never do better than I have done, and I have done nothing yet.