So about 11 years ago, I randomly picked up a biography of a poet I’d never heard of, decided that it missed the soul of this guy I’d never read and that I could write a much better biography. THAT IS CRAZY.
Two years ago, Victor let me quit work for a year so I could write my book. When we decided to come to Paris for Victor’s 40th, I told him he could stay in France, but that I was coming to England to walk John Clare’s “Journey out of Essex.” I still have not finished my book.
Today, I started that walk by taking the tube out to the Northeastern suburbs and the Epping Forest, the site of the mental institution poet Clare was escaping from.
Obviously, January is not an optimum time to go on a four-day 80-mile stroll, but here I am doing just that.
Postscript: I did not make it to the site of the mental institution (long knocked down) on the other side of the forest. I had an afternoon appointment back in London. It was raining cats and dogs, so I had to turn back once I got to High Oak. I then got lost again and had an unpleasant walk back, showing up about 20 minutes late for my appointment, a bit soggy. Still, a good start! And the maps have me all excited.