With the days shortening, my winter persona emerges. It’s probably there all the time, latent and lurking, waiting for the sun to dip below the tree line, waiting for darkness to send me scurrying indoors at 4.30pm and cabin up for another long night.

This winter alter-ego is quieter, introspective, hungry to learn, is philosophical, contemplative. It wants to read, to rediscover buried tendencies, to sleep and dream. And where does this take me? Lately, it takes me back to early instincts, reading and music, neither of which I pursued to any degree of personal satisfaction.

I remain a great fan of Jeanette Winterson, Margaret Atwood and Ian McEwan, Jon Mcgregor and Helen Dunmore by way of contemporary authors. But way out there right now is David Mitchell, in my view the most breathtakingly imaginative author writing in English right now (try Ghostwritten for starters). I did a very un-English thing and sent his publishers a email, passing on my compliments and appreciation. Well, nice chap that he is, I received a reply with a further suggesting reading list. So I’m sorry if I don’t get a right lot done this winter – I have some catching up to do.

P.S. – the nursery and garden are fine, I have some client projects on the go which are coming along fine and all is well in the real world…..

November 11, 2007