Infinite Thought writes up a recent perambulation we undertook around some parts of London. Of course, I can never tire of the Barbican, and like one of those Victorian fictions where a race of people are discovered living under the city, one can imagine the life of a reclusive author, living in a flat in the Barbican, taking their meals at the canteen, visiting the library, the conservatory and the gym, having important things sent in, sending out manuscripts. Eventually the writer has a child, a daughter, who is sent to the City of London School for Girls (in the Barbican), where she shows a remarkable talent for the violin, eventually securing her a place at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama (also at the Barbican), before moving out of the writer's flat and into her very own Barbican flat. I'm not sure whether this is a horror story or not, however...
2 comments:
Needless to say, I want to be that reclusive writer.
Before securing a job as 7th violinist at the RSO
Post a Comment