Last Read-through of CORRESPONDENCE

I’m getting stuck in.  There’s no sexual distraction this Saturday and there’s a public holiday this Monday.  I’ve already gone through the preliminaries including the foreword, altering the index as I went, and am about to plunge into the letters themselves – between me and Betty Clark, who may have written under the name of Joan Ure for publication then but her correspondence with me was under her married name and there’s no point belying that fact in the publication of our correspondence now – or some parts of them I’ve abstracted to make a book of that reads as a cohesive and artistic whole to provide her with a magnum opus.     She trusted me to do the best for her I could and Jacyntha Crawley has made it possible for me to do just that at long last.  Good on yer, mate.  Then I’ll be free! and in all likelihood keel over.  Isn’t that the way of it?  I’ve a cataract coming in the right eye.  It can only get worse and by ‘worse’ I do mean death: of body, soul and spirit.  I won’t be alive.  I won’t be.  You will.  Temporarily.  Yeah, as the man dit: je suis mort; c’est la vie.  No longer one up.  It is not to be borne that bourne from which no man, nor woman either, returns, as another man said.  What can you do?  Is immortality quite out of the question?  Shall I do a last minute conversion to wishful thinking?  Got to go.  When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go.  God speed …you.

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About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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