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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
274
"The
other
day"--I
begin
quietly
collecting
my
thoughts
to
tell
the
story
in
detail,
"I
went
to
the----"
"Ah!
you
must
come
and
see
my
pictures----"
he
breaks
in;
but
I
go
on
and
he
goes
on
and
as
I
talk,
I
catch
phrases:
"St.
Peters"
or"Michael
Angelo"
or
"Botticelli"
in
wondrous
antiphon
with
my
own
"British
Museum"
and
"I
saw
there,"
"two
Syracusan,"
"tetradrachms,"
until
very
likely
I
reach
the
end
of
my
sentence
before
he
does
his,
or
perhaps
his
rasp
drives
my
remarks
out
of
my
head.
But
that
makes
no
difference,
for
rather
than
give
in
I
go
on
improvising
in
a
louder
and
louder
voice
when
suddenly,
at
length
made
aware
of
the
fact
that
I
am
talking
too,
he
stops!
leaving
me
bellowing
nonsense
at
the
top
of
my
voice,
thus:
"and
I
much
admired
these
Syracusan
tetradrachms,
very
charming
indeed,
I
like
them,
the
Syracusan
tetradrachms
I
mean
you
know,
and
it
will
be
good
to
go
again
and
see
them
(louder)
if
possible
and
the
weather
keeps
dry
(louder)
and
the
moon
and
the
stars
keep
in
their
courses,
if
the
slugs
on
the
thorn
(loudest)----"
he
stops,
hears
the
last
few
words
of
my
remarks,
pretends
to
be
appreciative
but
wonders
what
in
Heaven's
name
I
can
have
been
talking
about.
September
3.
This
is
the
sort
of
remark
I
like
to
make:
Someone
says
to
me:
"You
are
a
pessimist."
"Ah!
well,"
I
say,
looking
infernally
deep,
"pessimism
is
a
good
policy;
it's
like
having
your
cake
and
eating
it
at
the
same
time."
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