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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
126
March
26.
Home
with
a
bad
influenza
cold.
In
a
deplorable
condition.
The
best
I
could
do
was
to
sit
by
the
fire
and
read
newspapers
one
by
one
from
the
first
page
to
the
last
till
the
reading
became
mechanical.
I
found
myself
reading
an
account
of
the
Lincoln
Handicap
and
a
column
article
on
Kleptomania,
while
advertisements
of
new
books
were
devoured
with
relish
as
delicacies.
My
mind
became
a
morass
of
current
Divorce
Court
News,
Society
Gossip--"if
Sir
A.
goes
Romeward,
if
Miss
B.
sings
true"--and
advertisements.
I
went
on
reading
because
I
was
afraid
to
be
alone
with
myself.
B----
arrived
at
tea
and
after
saying
he
felt
very
"pin-eyed"
swallowed
a
glass
of
Bols
gin--the
Gin
of
Antony
Bols--and
recovered
sufficiently
to
inform
me
delightedly
that
he
had
just
won
£50.
He
told
me
all
the
story;
meanwhile,
I,
tired
of
wiping
and
blowing
my
nose,
sat
in
the
dirty
armchair
hunched
up
with
elbows
on
knees
and
let
it
drip
on
to
the
dirty
carpet.
B----,
of
course,
noticed
nothing,
which
was
fortunate.
Some
kinds
of
damned
fool
would
have
been
kindly
and
sympathetic.
I
must
say
I
like
old
B----.
I
like
him
for
his
simpleness
and
utter
absence
of
self-consciousness,
which
make
him
as
charming
as
a
child.
Moreover,
he
often
makes
me
a
present
of
invaluable
turf
tips.
Of
course,
he
is
a
liar,
but
his
lies
are
harmless
and
on
his
mouth
like
milk
on
an
infant's.
My
own
lies
are
much
more
dangerous.
And
when
you
are
ill,
to
be
treated
as
tho'
you
were
well
is
good
for
hypochondriacs.
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