Anyone who has looked after a small child, been subjected to the unregulated prattle of a garrulous companion, or been bombarded by the unremitting demands of a busy job, will rejoice in that uninterrupted solitude to which poets address Great Odes. You close the door, relish the silence, and smile at the prospect of being undisturbed for hours and hours and hours. But there are times when isolation feels a rather mildewed state and there is the realisation, which J.G. Farrell identified as lying “between opening the door and taking off your raincoat”, that you are lonely. Christmas, the season of mandated merriment, which seems a standing rebuke to the non-merry, is just such a time. Instead of feeling sorry for the Divine Tot ill-housed in the legendary manger, many find themselves feeling sorry for Number One. Read more at www.timesonline.co.uk |
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