Trajectories

He was a talented artist- very good at copying things- but lacking drive and imagination. His insecurities made him spiky and snobbish. He should have become an art historian, but then he found religion-  and walked out on his thesis because his supervisor wouldn't let him make it all about Jesus. Our paths recrossed in early middle age (just as I was getting without religion) and he preached at me and I told him to fuck off (sort of). He floats around in the shallows of the art world (I think there's private money) and has work visible on the internet. He is an aesthete, a Sunday painter and a gentleman.

Most of us were only playing at student politics but she was a true believer. I admired her fixity of purpose. She took a job teaching sociology and women's studies at a Northern university and is still there- only now she's also president of a trades union that represents workers in academe. She is essentially the person she always was. She hasn't even changed her hairstyle.

I like to think I've skidded about all over the place in my life, but perhaps my contemporaries would look at where I am now and say, "Well, we're not surprised."

Or perhaps they'd just say, "Who?"

The Light Of Day: Graham Swift

Dreary suburban lives, a dreary suburban murder. But isn't dreariness a condition of civilization? If you want excitement you should move to Mosul.

Swift is very good on prison visiting. He understands that love- the real thing- is not only about the coup de foudre but is also a matter of will.

Trailing Clouds Of Glory

A lot of very small children see spirits.

Yes they do! I have no patience with those who say they don't. Are you accusing the wee lambs of being liars? Shame on you!

They don't necessarily make a big damn thing of it. They're very matter of fact. They see a spirit and they don't know it's a spirit and they suppose everyone else can see it too.

Ivy asked her mother where the old man had got to. Which old man? But Ivy didn't explain. She just smiled into the middle distance.