Ursa Major, Asia Minor

I went to see Joan Didion last night, and tears came to my eyes as they always do whenever I'm in the presence of legendary people I'm in awe of. And I am in awe. She read a passage from "The Year of Magical Thinking" which if I was in the hardover-buying-income bracket I would own by now but alas. It was painful to hear, but also wonderful to hear because of her voice. And then there was an interview, which wasn't particularly illuminating, but it was interesting, and she signed my copy of "Slouching Towards Bethlehem" (which I first read on a bullet train to Hiroshima in July 2004).

The Guardian revisits Woolf's A Room of One's Own. On the brilliantly readable Hilary Mantel.

I am writing an essay now, and have to mark papers all weekend. But tomorrow I will be feting it up for my beloved husband's first Canadian birthday. I've got to bake him a cake. In other exciting news, we are planning a rather grand Christmas party. And I miss Brighton, Basford, Tokyo and Budapest all at the same time. Oh, and congratulations to the Lui/Doerings who became engaged Sunday night with all the ceremony one might expect from such an event.