Wednesday
Apparently in his introduction to “Einstein’s Mistakes, The Human Failings of Genius” the author blames Einstein for Donald Crowhurst’s descent into madness. The blackness awaits us all, it needs only the slightest excuse. Our conveyance is swooping drunkenly around the roundabouts and sliproads that mark the beginning of the journey to London. It’s driver, a tall man with a long brown beard, bald head and beetling brows, says little but handles the coach with preternatural skill. For the first tome in weeks it is a most perfect warm spring morning the green is shining and I am texting sweet blandishments to my beloved. I am travelling on what is to be the last student trip of the year. It is likely that, upon our arrival the young scholars will soon melt into backstreets and we, the staff, will be left to our own devices.
Later the same day
I am constantly amazed at both the lack of urgency and lack of remorse displayed by young people today. Yet again we were forced to make the coaches wait for late students who, when they finally shambled up, did not even offer an apology. I firmly believe there is no excuse for such carelessness.
Apart from this, the day went tolerably well and whilst I did not manage to see a single exhibition on my itinerary, I did take in some interesting work at the Jerwood Space and Whitechapel Galleries. However, I can write no more. The driver in an effort to make up time has given his coach wings. Unfortunately we are flying much as one would expect a coach to fly.
