Thursday 19th March 1936
Each year I’ve kept Vigil, giving myself a spark of ideals to carry through the twelve months beyond. Bradgate; Sudbrooke; Chobham; St, Anne’s.
Devil of a day at the works. I had to leave soon after 4.30, when the chaos was still at it’s height. (Piles of work on my desk. Think I’ll go in early tomorrow.)
Dashed up to town and attended – without much enthusiasm – a lecture on paint.
Just after 9pm now and I shall not go alone to a silent place, as I’ve always done before. My last year’s request was for Sincerity. Well I guess it would be pretty insincere for me to keep Vigil tonight ‘cos I don’t get the slightest emotional stirring from it. It has become sticky, sentimental. I simply don’t believe in that sort of thing any more.
As maudlin as a weeping drunkard who ponders on the agonising tragedy of beauty, of life.
Devil of a day at the works. I had to leave soon after 4.30, when the chaos was still at it’s height. (Piles of work on my desk. Think I’ll go in early tomorrow.)
Dashed up to town and attended – without much enthusiasm – a lecture on paint.
Just after 9pm now and I shall not go alone to a silent place, as I’ve always done before. My last year’s request was for Sincerity. Well I guess it would be pretty insincere for me to keep Vigil tonight ‘cos I don’t get the slightest emotional stirring from it. It has become sticky, sentimental. I simply don’t believe in that sort of thing any more.
As maudlin as a weeping drunkard who ponders on the agonising tragedy of beauty, of life.
posted by Paul Wilson at 8:11 pm
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