28.03.02 – Thursday
Woke this morning to the chiding of the sun. One always knows that it shall be a bad – or, at the very least, trying – day when distant instances of extreme combustion seem to have gained the power of speech.
Moving on, however, to other things. Why is it that, as I read some few of Aemilia Lanyer’s (thought by some to be Shakespeare’s ‘Dark Lady’ – my copy had been annotated by a student with feminist leanings, who had not yet learnt to avoid the ballpoint pen when marking up books) poems in the bath this morning, I had the sudden desire to read Horace? Me nec femina nec puer iam nec spes animi credula mutui nec certare iuvat mero nec vincire novis tempora floribus…