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This Saturday ritual is very satisfying; I found three books by Maugham I didn’t know about and one by Len Deighton I hadn’t read, and which I’ve now started, cutting my reading of poor old Rosa Chacel once again. If you ask me, Deighton’s better than le Carré when it comes to spy novels. They have…

I’m still cutting my reading of Doña Rosa Chacel; now with Beckett, and a book about Beckett, an essay that includes some biographical notes. I found it very interesting, even though essays normally annoy me. But then, I was extremely curious about Beckett, and this book shed light on a few things.…

Then I felt curious about the message from my doctor. To be honest, I didn’t want to listen to any messages or hear anything about the world, but something told me this was no ordinary message. I played it. It mentioned the medication, but it also talked about the pansies she’d left me. A chill ran…

[...] I felt like I was suspended in mid-air, without my things, without my books, with almost nothing of my own, and I’ve always been very dependent on my habitat. My bedroom was tiny, and the bed inside it was tiny; I had to learn to sleep with my head resting on one arm, because there weren’t en…

I was saying, then, a while ago, almost at the beginning of this diary, that I moved into the house of some friends for ten days and stayed there for six months. During that time I tried to look for an apartment, but it wasn’t easy. I flicked through the paper that listed apartments for rent and fe…