riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
There is nothing quite like a little James Joyce to sprout the hairs on the back of you neck when you are preparing yourself for a Captain Candy escapade. And so we come to the start of our weekly adventure with talk of marking hiding somewhere beneath the front seat.
The air is hanging heavily with the promise of rain.
Thoughts from the dark side:
When I was a student, I can remember mentioning to my English Literature lecturer that I thought that King was an excellent writer. The Lecturer, smiled at me with something that weighed a little over a tonne of condescension. She laughed as she stated that King was not a real writer. I didn’t laugh or smile.
I never talked to her much after that and would bluff my way through her seminars in a manner that was apparent to all and sundry. Fortunately for me, this lecturer was only there for a year before returning to the States. She did teach me one thing, FECUNDITYwhich she used lavishly in her description of Gabriella Garcia Marques’ One Hundred Years of Solitude– a true writer.
I still have to read that book.