The Bells, The Bells

Chekov said that he loved bells, that they were all that religion had left him. Sundays in Oxford remind me of Italy: it is nothing but bells all day long. Beautiful. They peel out from various colleges and mark morning and afternoon services. I love listening to them. I once was going to be a bell-ringer. My friend (the same HH below) and I went for a couple of weeks to Christchurch Cathedral, in Dublin, but interest waned and we sloped off and never returned. A pity. They were recruiting for a big Millenium peal they were planning, and if I remember correctly were getting another big bell installed. Ever since I've been meaning to read Dorothy Sayers' Nine Tailors.
Speaking of reading, I've started The Dream of Scipio by Iain Pears (thank you Ralph for the excellent suggestion - I just wish mine [Phillipa Morgan, Chaucer and the House of Fame] had been as good...doh!). It's a good read I must say, though you do have to get over the very quick interchanges in the story before you enjoy it.

And thank you Hesitant Hack for pointing out my neurotic behaviour with the books. (And thank you, by the way, for terrifying me with that memory of yours too....). I admit it. I have a problem. It's something I'm working on. I know that when I get my D.Phil. and I'm all grown up and clever I shan't need books anymore. It could be worse, I always say, it could be....oh, human heads or something that I collect.

Oh, and it's raining again here. Raining. It just not know how to do two days in a row here without raining. I really really need to see some proper sunshine. Ok. Just a little. My vitamin K levels (or whatever sun gives you) are dangerously low.