Too tired to move, too tired to leave

[sovay]

So first I re-read George Eliot's Silas Marner (1861) and then I rewatched Christine Edzard's Little Dorrit (1987) and was reminded that I never managed to locate my own copy of Charles Dickens' Little Dorrit (1857) and started re-reading A Tale of Two Cities (1859) instead; it is not that everything is very nineteenth-century right now, everything is very twenty-first-century, that's the problem, really, but nonetheless. I would like to have the time to write about anything. Or think. That would be fun, too.

[edit] Edging briefly into the twentieth century, I watched Donald Pleasance as a dark-cowled drowning spirit in Lonely Water (1973), a delightful ninety-second horror film in the guise of public information which I can only hope jumpstarted at least one career in weird fiction in among its audience's trauma. I had been hearing about it for years in a sort of legendary way. Thanks, COI.

Comments

[cmcmck]

I really ought to re-read 'Little Dorrit'.

People seem to believe that Dickens made up so many of the names he uses but there in the Cathedral churchyard of my home town of Rochester (also Dickens' home town) are the gravestones with the name: 'Dorrit'.

[davidgillon]

Never noticed that one, despite having lived in Rochester/Chatham for 36 years.

[cmcmck]

The little churchyard to the left of the cathedral- between it and St Nicholas.

I also recall there being a firm of solicitors in the High Street with the wonderfully Dickensian name of Arnold, Tuff & Grimwade! :o)

[davidgillon]

The little churchyard to the left of the cathedral- between it and St Nicholas.

I must have been past it hundreds of times, but I don't think I've ever been inside.