In Bloomsbury

I'm in London for Marxism Festival and meeting up with some old friends and remembering others who are no longer with us. I'm staying in London University halls of residence which is very central and close to all the action which mostly takes place in UCL, just round the corner from me. I've just had my inclusive breakfast and its raining slightly so thought I would pass the time writing a wee post on the University provided PCs.

I heard a Greek revolutionary socialist, Maria Stylou, speaking last night at the opening rally of the festival. Inspirational she was and about my age, so there's hope for us all. She is staying in the same halls as me and was having breakfast at a table beside me this morning so naturally went to thank her for coming over from Greece to give us a few words of wisdom. A lovely lady.

As it happens I'm reading Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels just now, which is set partly in Greece during and after the Second World War and then in Canada, Anne being Canadian. It's a book I've had for some time, years in fact, but never quite got round to reading, and I'm so pleased I've managed it at long last. She writes like a poet, and a historian and a geographer. "I wanted a line in a poem to be the hollow ney of the dervish orchestra whose plaintive wail is a call to God. But all I achieved was awkward shrieking." 

If I've finished the book I shall give it to Maria before I leave here on Monday; maybe I should have given it to her this morning as a wee gift from Scotland. But you don't think of these things at the time.

The part of London I'm staying in is called Bloomsbury, which is of course where Virginia Woolf used to live and where her books were written; Mrs Dalloway had her party and did her shopping round these parts as I seem to recall. There's a Virginia Woolf memorial and bust near here, I think, so will try to see it and take a photo for you all.

Did you know that Edward Wilson, who was one of the five who went with Scott to the South Pole, borrowed a book of Tennyson poems to take with him to the Pole and then carried it back with him to rerturn to the person who lent it to him, presumably. It was discovered with their frozen bodies when their tent was found. Weighty book for sure. Wilson came from Cheltenham.