Leafing through my journals of past exploits I was very much taken aback to realise it's fifteen years since I read Stephen King's On Writing and Ted Hughes's translation of The Oresteia. Each receives an enthusiastic mention in May 2001. Surely this can't be right? The experience of reading them lives so powerfully in memory that it feels like I read them just a few weeks ago.
How wonderful it is to be able to step out of time occasionally.
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