I'm pretty sure one was about how a novelisation of Catullus' life that I had read and discarded as unhelpful actually could be worked into a broader look at the subject, since it was written though the eyes of Caelius (styled as Catullus' friend) as he came to terms with Catullus' death. V. Interesting. It was called The Key, and it was by Benita Kane Jaro:
It was pretty fun to read because interesting classical novelisations are few and far between, and often of rather dubious quality. Every novelist thinks they've got a story about Ancient Rome inside them and inevitably what is produced is simply 'cacata carta' (that's a cheeky Catullus reference for you right there. No. 36, I do believe. Boom).
I can't remember what the rest of these tiny sparks of genius were. I always hope this means that they're either unimportant or that they'll come back to me, but I fear that this is an optimistic approach. However, I have not yet reached the levels of pretentiousness it would require (she says, having just quoted a Catullus poem..) to start carrying around a notebook for my thoughts. I am not a New Romantic. I appreciate daffodils and move on with my life. I do still really like moorhens, though, but I don't think that's quite the same.
In other news, today I acquired a KETTLE. I've had 3 whole cups of tea this afternoon. My hands were shaking a little bit when I made the first one; I'm not sure why. Anticipation, possibly. Maybe I should have a t-shirt with some hilarious tea-related slogan, like 'Sex, Tea, and Rock 'n' Roll'. Maybe that is taking things too far.
Also, I went to Oxford Central library today to return the books I got out when I borrowed a load of poetry for my essay. I read one, One Hundred Years of Solitude, which I really enjoyed, but I didn't have time to read the other - The Woman in White. Partly I think this was because I was a little bit afraid to read it at night time when there was no-one around. I had to renew my last poetry book because I'm terrified I'll need to put in a reference at the last minute and won't have it to hand. Anyway, when I took them back I decided it was basically Fate that two books I've ogled in bookshops before now just *happened* to be on display, so I have come back with Mr Rosenblum's List and A Tiny Bit Marvellous. I am excited to read both of them. Hopefully I will have the strength of mind to put them down and do some revision every once in a while...
My parents and sister and sister's friend have gone to see Stomp at home in Cambridge this evening. I am jealous that they are having fun and I am not. Evenings are really boring in a single room. I don't think I'm ever going to be able to live on my own because lack of social interaction drives me insane. I had a lovely chat with Gabi earlier when we met by chance in the corridor but that was nearly two whole hours ago and that's a long time to sit in your room feeling like you ought to be working, especially if that's pretty much what you've been doing all day. It's no wonder that all my best thinking occurs when I am out and about, really.
OH. Today I finished my timeline of the final years of Caesar and the principate of Augustus. It goes from 49BC to AD14. It is enormous - at least 3.5 times the size of me lengthwise. It was an absolute mission but I am looking forward to annotating it and the happy thing is that no other princeps ruled for that long, so Tiberius, Gaius and Claudius should be far less painful. However, I had a look through my Greek History file and there is a loooooot to cover. I don't know how I am going to do that. Well, I kind of do. But it's a big task and it's a bit daunting to have all these things in front of me before I've cleared the last one out of the way. Once I've handed in this bloody essay I'll be ready, I think.
Right. Onwards and upwards, as the mole said to the earthworm. And don't forget your sunglasses.
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