22February1998

Sunday 22 February 98
My dear folks,

Maida Vale is at rest, soaking up the welcome warmth of a sunny February afternoon. I took myself off on a long hike this a.m., up through Swiss Cottage to the further reaches of Hampstead Heath. En route I discovered parts of London, barely a mile away, that I hardly knew existed, including a none-too-savoury section across two railway bridges, past some factories & down a long graffiti-inscribed passageway - not an area to be out at night. At the Heath I joined the swarms of families & joggers & dogs that were celebrating the glory of the day. The dogs rush all over the show but with typical British reserve tend to mind their own business & bottoms & expect other dogs to the same. I’ve never seen a fight. The daffodils were out. I went my way again after a brief pause on one of the many benches installed in memory of one or other Heath lover, a far more sensible idea than a grave stone.

I’ve been off since Friday. It’s taking Mave & me a while to accommodate the change of pace and mood that has accompanied Jones’s departure. I gathered from her that Samson is safely retrieved from Sheila’s & installed at the Quinta. He’s getting lots of walks & food & love & we’ll see how things go from there. I was meant to see a rep from a holiday company on Friday to talk abut going into business with them. But the lady concerned went down with flu & postponed it. I spent most of the day at my desk instead, catching up on banks, recalcitrant tenants, lawyers & all the other detritus of looking after other people’s flats. I’ve also started a process of clearing out 19 years’ accumulation of files from the shelves in the study. Jones & I have both been trying to shed belongings. But we are both somehow more inclined to keep our own possessions & give away our partner’s so we haven’t made much progress.

After lunch, I borrowed Jessica, a neighbour’s dog, & went off for a wander through Regents Park. As we returned, I caught the sleeve of my favourite leather jacket on a nail sticking out from the wooden fence surrounding the mosque. The sleeve was rent, to my distress. I tucked away the flap as best I could. Was this, I wondered, a sign from Allah of his displeasure at the imminent bombing of Iraq by the perfidious Americans. I gave the thought some consideration before dismissing it as unlikely. It took me 30 minutes of fine darning that evening to repair the damage.

Saturday a.m.
I cycled off in the drizzle to the computer fair that’s held off Tottenham Court Road to get myself an Intellimouse. I’ve been using them at the Beeb & find they save a lot of arm work when one is drafting a long document. Prices at the fair are generally half of those in the shops. There’s nod-&-wink sales as well but that’s as may be. The intellimice go for £20, less than a third of the standard price. I carefully selected one with the right fitting for my computer & set about installing it on my return. The computer responded by playing seriously silly buggers with me. I eventually worked out that the fitting concerned was for my keyboard & I that was sitting with two mice plugged in but no keyboard. If you saw the mass of wiring that emerges from the back of the computer you’d understand. I shall take the mouse back next week & eat humble pie in the hope of an exchange. Meanwhile, I work afternoons through till midnight from Monday to Thursday.

My perseverance with my book, “The Language Instinct” by Steven Pinker, is paying dividends. I bought it because I have so often wondered how primitive peoples came to speak such complex & differently structured languages. The book hasn’t quite answered the question but has come close to it. Most interesting are examples of how children, whose parents are thrown together from different language backgrounds, rapidly develop their own language. The early chapters, on the innate structure of language, were hard work. But the author is gifted both with an exceptional knowledge of his subject & a pleasing turn of phrase in conveying it. His illustrations are a joy, many of them from Alice in Wonderland. Let me leave you with one, as he dissects the mystery of pronouns:

“I proceed [said the Mouse].
‘Edwin and Morcar, the Earls of Mercia and Northumbria, declared for him; and even Stigand, the patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found it advisable....”.
“Found what?” said the Duck.
“Found it,” the Mouse replied rather crossly: “of course you know what ‘it’ means.”
“I know what ‘it’ means well enough when I find a thing,” said the Duck:
“it’s generally a frog or a worm. The question is, what did the archbishop find?”

Indeed.
Blessings
T