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This blog makes liberal use of AB's journals, letters, travel notes, and other sources.

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Wednesday, 25 December 2013


Saturday, December 25th., George Street, London.

Two thoroughly bad nights, full of the church clock. Still I wrote over 4,000 words of my novel in 3 days, with lots of preoccupations, almost all to do with my wife. 

I shall have to have it out with her soon. She likes to pretend that I am jealous of Legros. It flatters her to think so. But it is not true. I am incapable of being jealous, probably because I should regard a woman capable of doing anything deserving jealousy as not worth being jealous about. As for presents, it seems that she does not agree with me that present-giving should be not a duty but a pleasure. To give to one whose behaviour is constantly wounding, as Marguerite's is to me, is not a very keen pleasure. When she realises what is due to me, and acts accordingly, she will not go short of presents.

Yesterday I wrote to George Moore to tell him that it was the first chapters of "A Mummer's Wife" which opened my eyes to the romantic nature of the district that I had blindly inhabited for over twenty years. He is indeed the father of all my Five Towns books.

Additionally for December 25th., see 'Tea and poetry' -

War. Only about half a pint of methylated spirits left in the house. Marguerite decided to keep this in stock for an emergency of illness etc. Wise. So I can no longer make my own perfect tea at what hour I like in the morning. And this morning I had poor servant-made tea. However there is a hope of me getting some other heating apparatus.

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