Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Sunday 22nd March 1936

A warm day; am sitting at the table, quite comfortable, dressed in grey bags and grey shirt. (The shirt still has the Lincolnshire emblem sewn on the right breast pocket.) Am smoking a pipe. Unless someone turns up unexpectedly I shall have a lazy day.

To continue my reflections on destiny:-

Our lives must be already written, otherwise why do things happen in such an ordered, systematic way? Dammit, there must be a limit to coincidence. Somehow, when I consider life it reminds me of a square; there’s something mathematical about it all. Straight lines, not a haphazard zig-zag. Of all my adolescent theories this alone remains; it is already written...

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