On 'study'.

Well, the recording of Ernest went off very well this afternoon, we did the entire thing in one take more or less. Whether this is a good thing or not remains to be seen, but I think it went relatively well. My next job in the matter is to look through the script at some point in the next day or so and work out how the sound effects will work.

Other than practicing, preparing and generally fussing over Ernest for the last couple of days, I have been (of course!) studying, and last night had a delightful time at the pub with Dom, Laura, et al. All sorts of conversation came our way, from considering whether it possible to chose to believe something (conclusion: perhaps not, but you can chose whether to act on a pre-existant belief) to the state of South American coaches.

I came across this from one of the short stories I have been reading by John Updike, called Pigeon Feathers. It comes as David, the main character, is looking closely at the pigeon he has just shot to clear out the barn of these 'pests'

'The feathers were more wonderful than dog's hair, for each filament was shaped within the shape of the feather, and the feathers in turn were trimmed to fit a pattern that flowed without error across the bird's body. He lost himself in the geometrical tides as the feathers now broadened and stiffened to make an edge for flight, now softened and constricted to cup warmth around the mute flesh. And across the surface of the infinitely adjusted yet somehow effortless mechanics of the feathers played idle designs of colour, no two alike, designs executed, it seemed, in a controlled rapture, with a joy that hung level in the air above and behind him. Into the fragrant open earth he dropped one broadly banded in slate shades of blue, and on top of it another mottled all over in rhythms of lilac and grey...As he fitted the last two, still pliant, on the top, nd stood up, crusty coverings were lifted from him, and with a feminine, slipping sensation along his nerves that seemed to give the air hands, he was robed in this certainty: that the God who had lavished such craft upon these worthless birds would not destroy His whole Creation by refusing to let David live forever.'

I must get around to writing some more Lewis Wilson tommorrow. This is an ideal activity for a Sunday afternoon, since it is very enjoyable but, to me at least, is essential. I can't go for the weekend without having a decent stab at writing something, though people tend to find that hard to grasp ('no work?' 'Well I need to write' 'That's not work' - that sort of thing) In many ways it is possible for an english student to be every bit as busy as any other student, its just we, or at least I, see the vital importance of reading and writing and other 'pasttimes' when not actually doing what the university calls 'study'. Indeed, is there any time I am not studying? Perhaps not. Thought must go into everything.

Now I must clean the bathroom.