1990 - Spring
I rarely visit art galleries, for two reasons: the first is that there is never anywhere to sit, and the second is that I do tno understand art. When people ask me what I've got against pictures, I can only reply, 'What have you got against the wall?'
In The Waste Land, when Mr Eliot wrote that 'April if the cruellest month' he was thinking about his income taxes. I dealt with this annual problem last week, thoguh my life in England did nothing to prepare me for the ordeal. . . When I lived there if I darted into the Chelsea branch of Lloyds Bank and said to a teller, 'Is he in?', she would at once reply, 'I'll see.' In spite of my casual manner, she knew that I was referring to the manager; if he was not actually with a customer, he would deal with me at once.
In America I would not expect ever to stand in the august presence of a bank manager - nay not even if I were a self-confessed millionaire.
On one occasion when I mentioned my bewilderment at finding I had two accounts. 'That is correct,' she said. 'You do' . . 'I think you need an accountant.'
I have now acquired one. He is a gentleman of limitless patience who sits like a large hamster in a nest of papers. I have never actually seen him chew up the more troublesome documents and store them in his cheeks, but I suspect that is where they are.
Having done my duty to the government, I hoped to enjoy many nights of peaceful sleep, but this was not to be. At about four o'clock one morning last week, I was woken by my telephone bell. My totally unknown caller wanted to know if I had ever suffered from a venereal disease and whether I knew that Miss Garbo had died. I answered 'No' to the first quention and 'Yes' to the second. The stranger then said with a wistful intonation, 'I suppose that means that we shall all die.'
It does.
An unknown woman has telephoned me to ask if she might interview me. . . I said 'Interrogate me and I will reply.' Her first quention was, 'Why is your number in the Manhattan directory?'
What I ask the world, is the use of a telephone if my number is unlisted? It means that no one will ever be able to call me; I will have to call him. Think of the expense.
My unknown interviewer then asked if I did not receive calls from a lot of weird people. I do, but, as I am the weirdest of them all, I can hardly complain.
In The Waste Land, when Mr Eliot wrote that 'April if the cruellest month' he was thinking about his income taxes. I dealt with this annual problem last week, thoguh my life in England did nothing to prepare me for the ordeal. . . When I lived there if I darted into the Chelsea branch of Lloyds Bank and said to a teller, 'Is he in?', she would at once reply, 'I'll see.' In spite of my casual manner, she knew that I was referring to the manager; if he was not actually with a customer, he would deal with me at once.
In America I would not expect ever to stand in the august presence of a bank manager - nay not even if I were a self-confessed millionaire.
On one occasion when I mentioned my bewilderment at finding I had two accounts. 'That is correct,' she said. 'You do' . . 'I think you need an accountant.'
I have now acquired one. He is a gentleman of limitless patience who sits like a large hamster in a nest of papers. I have never actually seen him chew up the more troublesome documents and store them in his cheeks, but I suspect that is where they are.
Having done my duty to the government, I hoped to enjoy many nights of peaceful sleep, but this was not to be. At about four o'clock one morning last week, I was woken by my telephone bell. My totally unknown caller wanted to know if I had ever suffered from a venereal disease and whether I knew that Miss Garbo had died. I answered 'No' to the first quention and 'Yes' to the second. The stranger then said with a wistful intonation, 'I suppose that means that we shall all die.'
It does.
An unknown woman has telephoned me to ask if she might interview me. . . I said 'Interrogate me and I will reply.' Her first quention was, 'Why is your number in the Manhattan directory?'
What I ask the world, is the use of a telephone if my number is unlisted? It means that no one will ever be able to call me; I will have to call him. Think of the expense.
My unknown interviewer then asked if I did not receive calls from a lot of weird people. I do, but, as I am the weirdest of them all, I can hardly complain.