Departures

Two rounds of leaving drinks last night. We're losing talent like a burst artery (worse is to come next week when the Manc goes), and disaffection and cynicism are rampant. "Show me the money" is the cry often heard.

Came home bumbling, giggly and talkative but now feel yukky - eye rims dry, sore.

===

This morning's repeat of Desert Island Discs featured Thomas Keneally recalling his time as a seminarian. The closer he got to being ordained, the more he doubted the path he was on. Life was austere and the only women in the seminary were the nuns who put out the food. Then one glorious day the Von Trapp singers arrived on tour. The sight of Baroness Von Trapp and her strapping daughters was too much, testing some vocations to destruction. Cackling, Keneally revealed that in the weeks after the sing-song "about 30 blokes left".

One of his record choices, Fairytale of New York, made me cry and is making me cry again now as I play it on YouTube. That mix of melancholy, joyfulness and resigned loathing of much of the daily grind.

He was also very good on writing: it is the process through which the fear of not being able to write is controlled; it makes you miserable when you're doing it even as it compels you to do it; if you're doing it properly, it shows the world what a mean little sod you are.

I've been thinking for a while that I should stop being a mean little sod and now feels like the right moment to do something about it. Wasting time and pontificating here and in the other blogs I've done during the past two years has been mostly lovely but I want to try something else. Thanks for reading.