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The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
82
January
22.
This
Diary
reads
for
all
the
world
as
if
I
were
not
living
in
mighty
London.
The
truth
is
I
live
in
a
bigger,
dirtier
city--ill-health.
Ill-health,
when
chronic,
is
like
a
permanent
ligature
around
one's
life.
What
a
fine
fellow
I'd
be
if
I
were
perfectly
well.
My
energy
for
one
thing
would
lift
the
roof
off....
We
conversed
around
the
text:
"To
travel
hopefully
is
better
than
to
arrive
and
true
success
is
to
labour."
She
is--well,
so
graceful.
My
God!
I
love
her,
I
love
her,
I
love
her!!!
February
3.
A
Confession
H----
B----
invited
me
to
tea
to
meet
his
fiancée.
Rather
pleased
with
the
invitation--I
don't
know
why,
for
my
idea
of
myself
is
greater
than
my
idea
of
him
and
probably
greater
than
his
idea
of
himself.
Yet
I
went
and
got
shaved,
and
even
thought
of
buying
a
new
pair
of
gloves,
but
poverty
proved
greater
than
vanity,
so
I
went
with
naked
hands.
On
arriving
at
Turnham
Green,
I
removed
my
spectacles
(well
knowing
how
much
they
damage
my
personal
appearance).
However,
the
beauty
of
the
thing
was
that,
tho'
I
waited
as
agreed,
he
never
turned
up,
and
so
I
returned
home
again,
crestfallen--and,
with
my
spectacles
on
again.
February
9.
...
"Now,
W----,
talk
to
me
prettily,"
she
said
as
soon
as
the
door
was
closed
on
them.
"Oh!
make
him
read
a
book,"
whined
her
sister,
but
we
talked
of
marriage
instead--in
all
its
aspects.
Bless
their
hearts,
I
found
these
two
dear
young
things
simply
sodden
with
the
idea
of
it.
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