feeling strange

One of those odd little moments of equilibrium in freelance life. I think I have done everything I should have for the moment: a profile and two book reviews for the Guardian; an enormous mass of book corrections and acknowledgements. The only other overdue stuff are three thank-you letters and a book review for Ian Pitchford of a work that is important, but incredibly badly written. Or perhaps a work which is important, but which I am to stupid to review.

Otherwise, I have two long pieces of work that will occupy me until the middle of November — a Radio Four programme on the Church of England, and a profile of Elizabeth Jane Howard. Both of these are as far advanced as they can be now. I am reading my way through all her books again, and letters or faxes are writhing through the fortifications which surround the episcopal might of the Anglican Communion.

I have a half chapter of a novel to finish, but that is an almost permanent condition. Still, it had better be kept off my list of things to be left undone.

I must do something about Bill Hamilton.

Tomorrow I shall spend all day fishing with Sean Geer.

And yesterday a nice, professional, and intelligent TV producer rang up and asked if I were intersted in making a profile of an interesting philosopher.

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