I read this memoir by Clive James. He is an acclaimed Australian writer and broadcaster who spent most of his adult life in the United Kingdom. As the title indicates this book is about the foibles and the humour of being at Cambridge. He takes us straight into the action – arriving on a misty October day aged 24. He has a degree from thE University of Sydney already under his belt. He is highly eloquent without ever being verbose. He only used a handful of words that sent me thumbing through the dictionary. In was the manner in which he strung his words together than was innovative. He never tarried with tedious details. He jumped from one arresting scene to the next. It was an engaging and droll book.
I dreamt that I was on the tube. Across the aisle sat Helena. She is a barrister I used to know. I had been thinking about her and her blonde Quebecoise friend whom I met once years ago. I ought to have tried it on with both of them. This is probably where my dream came from.
Helena was attired in office garb. Beside her sat a petite girl of a few years younger. Helena is about 30. Then the little one sat on Helena’s lap. I am not sure who the smaller one was – maybe Naomi whom I also knew at university. They started snogging. No one else was there all of a sudden. The chicks were aloof to me. I do not think they lesbed each other up for my benefit.
In fact these two are hetero.
I had been thinking how I always tried to persuade my girlfriend to try lesbianism. A few of them had dipped their toe in the water before they met me so to speak but none of them were willing to try again for my sake. A few of them were repulsed by the very suggestion.
Then I was in Ireland – in the South. I was in a prison but not a prisoner. Three men were due to be executed by hanging. I was curious about it but then a sense of foreboding arose. I saw a cell where they were held – there were bars at the window built into the door. It looked like the inside of Kilmainham. I did not see the men. The warder wore a blue uniform with a cap like in Porridge – I watched it not long ago.
Later I saw three shrouded figures – the dead men. I did not see them being killed though. I felt guilty about my macabre inquisitiveness. It made for a disturbing contrast to the benign episode of lesbianism earlier on.
The Pakistani Ministry of Justice is going to deter crime by introducing stiffer sentences for rape victims.
I hope that one is not too close to the bone because in the supremely fucked up world of Sharia law this is what happens. A woman who reports rape will go to gaol if her alleged attacker is acquitted. He almost always is acquitted. Unwed intercourse is a crime under that code.