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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
260
The
only
troubles
have
been
a
chimney
which
smokes
and
a
neighbour's
dog
which
barks
at
night.
So
to
be
sure,
I
have
made
port
after
storm
at
last--and
none
too
soon.
To-day
my
cheerfulness
has
been
rising
in
a
crescendo
till
to-night
it
broke
in
such
a
handsome
crest
of
pure
delight
that
I
cannot
think
of
going
to
bed
without
recording
it.
Pachmann
After
sitting
on
the
wall
around
the
fountain
in
the
middle
of
Trafalgar
Square,
eating
my
sandwiches
and
feeding
the
Pigeons
with
the
crumbs,
I
listened
for
a
moment
to
the
roar
of
the
traffic
around
three
sides
of
the
Square
as
I
stood
in
the
centre
quite
alone,
what
time
one
fat
old
pigeon,
all
unconcerned,
was
treading
another.
It
was
an
extraordinary
experience:
motor
horns
tooted
incessantly
and
it
seemed
purposelessly,
so
that
one
had
the
fancy
that
all
London
was
out
for
a
joy-ride--it
was
a
great
British
Victory
perhaps,
or
Peace
Day.
Then
walked
down
Whitehall
to
Westminster
Bridge
in
time
to
see
the
2
o'clock
boat
start
upstream
for
Kew.
I
loitered
by
the
old
fellow
with
the
telescope
who
keeps
his
pitch
by
Boadicea:
I
saw
a
piper
of
the
Scots
Guards
standing
near
gazing
across
the
river
but
at
nothing
in
particular--just
idling
as
I
was.
I
saw
another
man
sitting
on
the
stone
steps
and
reading
a
dirty
fragment
of
newspaper.
I
saw
the
genial,
red-faced
sea-faring
man
in
charge
of
the
landing
stage
strolling
up
and
down
his
small
domain,--chatting,
jesting,
spitting,
and
making
fast
a
rope
or
so.
Everything
was
alive
to
the
finger
tips,
vividly
shining,
pulsating.
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