The biographer discombobulated

I am greatly entertained by Mistress Ruth Scurr’s new book John Aubrey: My Own Life. It contains 433 pages. My honoured friend Mr William Harvey warns me that I shall acquire an impostumation if I sit reading it much longer.

I am surprised that so much of it is already familiar to me. But I am completely possessed by the man and his English style. I fear I shall develop his stammer.

.     .     .

I proposed to Mr Hooke that the Royal Society might investigate how it is that printed writing can be both a man’s (Mr Aubrey’s) and a woman’s (Mistress Scurr’s) at the same time. He refused, saying, ‘No two bodies can occupy the same space!’  He has lent me thirty-five shillings in the past month, and now this fart.

.     .     .

Today at Joe’s coffee house Sir Blewbottle Harston told me that he doubted I would be able to “blogg” about Mistress Scurr’s book with my customary tediousness until I had stopped thinking, speaking and writing like it. I agreed with my good friend. I believe I shall need a week to recover my equipoise.

Next entry: Kittie’s story


About Patrick Miles

I am a writer who specialises in Anton Chekhov and is writing a biography of George Calderon.
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