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| Today's Google doodle is in honour of VW's birthday |
People always moan about January but, being my birth-month, it's a month I like (despite dire post-Christmas broke-ness). I turned 48 this month, so was happy to find, on the Monk's House Insta today, an extract from Virginia Woolf's diary from 25th January 1930, the day she turned 48.
‘I am 48: we have been at Rodmell—a wet, windy day again; but on my birthday we walked among the downs, like the folded wings of grey birds and saw first one fox, very long with his brush stretched; then a second; which had been barking, for the sun was hot over us; it leapt lightly over a fence and entered the furze—a very rare sight. How many foxes are there in England? At night I read Lord Chaplin’s life. I cannot yet write naturally in my new room, because the table is not the right height, and I must stoop to warm my hands. Everything must be absolutely what I am used to.’
It has been wet and windy in Galway today, with little spots of sun, and apparently it's been the same at Monk's House too. I spent one of the happiest days of 2016 there. Blogpost about that here. (And for those who have asked, no I am not writing a novel about VW, I just love her!)
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| A VW silhouette I bought at Monk's House |
2 comments:
Oh I so love her as well. It was her quote, which won't be completely accurate I'm afraid, that in order to write well women need money and a room of their own, that motivated me to insist on a private tiny house on our farm for me to write in. I have filled this little place, a shed with a porch, full of 1940's style furniture. A bit of a homage to VW.
Oh lucky you! I have to write in my bedroom. The last kid put paid to my room of my own. I just need the eldest to move out now, to free up some space ;)
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