Last night a bird flew into my window. It was some sort of dove or pigeon or something very like, I think, because it left a perfect greasy imprint of its body on the glass. One wing was outstretched in full flight and its head turned sharply to the left on impact. I asked my assistant to hold a piece of black card outside in order that I could record the pitiful pattern of feathers on my phone. It looked like a ghost, which proved to be accurate as we later found its body in the grounds.
While away I have received a number of messages from my companion. It seems that she has been suffering from a number of fainting fits, I fear anaemia and have asked her to see the doctor. She also sent me a strange Vampire story set in a hospital, it was written by an old friend of hers.
It occurred to me that most Vampire films feature a book, which the hero reads to explain what is going on. Usually after an extremely stupid phase our hero realises that the sudden deaths due to exsanguination are somehow linked to the tall pale man with blood on his chin. That is one of the reasons I like the films they have a built in inevitability that reminds me of the everyday. The book also (usually) contains further information as to how the fiend may be despatched. It’s all quite straightforward really.
The books I am currently reading include Graham Greene’s Travels with my Aunt and The Third Man. The first was recommended, perhaps for obvious reasons, the second I’ve wanted to read for a long time. I saw the film many years ago after a trip to Vienna with my parents. It was a good film but recently the book has come to interest me more as: “it was never written to be read but only to be seen”. It is a secret, phantom novel, an eminence grise for the film, or at least it was for a little while, my copy was published in 1950.
