1. i’ve begun to re-read the Philosophical Investigations. i confess to not having understood more than 1% on my first reading, in 2009. But, as was the case with Hart Crane, the initial bemusement seemed preparatory, to have enabled a later understanding, or appreciation at least. Also, i think the book would make more sense to a philosophically-minded TEFLer than to a philosopher neat, assuming roughly equivalent intelligences. It’s curiously open to me now; not easy, but where there is difficulty i can engage and really think about it, rather than just sliding off the frictionless surface with a “what the fuck are you on about, Ludwig?” look on my face.

2. Go here, buy the book.

3. To my chagrin my tweed jacket smells of old dog and the lining is ripped as by a rapist. i vaguely recollect that it was in this state when i handed it in to the dry cleaner but the overpowering stench of old dog is a bit offputting, for some reason. Sadly, Harris Tweed doesn’t come into stock till after i’ve returned to Germany; i persuaded a shop here in Durham to try to get one in from their warehouse, for me to try on tomorrow. i do love my old jacket, probably the only thing my father bought me which was of some use, but my god the smell, like a litter of dobermann puppies used it – wait, they did. This was once one of my favourite, manly odours. In my old age i have grown prissy and over-civilized. i even occasionally shower these days, or at least go out in the rain (the poor man’s shower).

4. In about half an hour i’m going to take two Marks and Spencer pies and a bottle of Prosecco to a friend’s house, and we will watch Predator. It is very strange to be back in England – i feel how my 6 months in Kiel, readying myself for death, have altered me. The difference is more noticeable here, as familiar situations, places, people, seem subtly alien – and i realise it is i who am the alien, altered. So long and relentless a contemplation of death will change a man, even one so pig-headed and stuck in his ways as me.

5. i’ve learnt some odd things this week. As with much esoteric knowledge it seems both exceedingly odd and right, it shocks and yet it fits, it makes sense of many fragments, confusions; and very quickly it seems almost ordinary, just how things are.

And i myself am ordinary, just the way i am. Basta.