Today is Mozart’s anniversary. He was born on 27th January in 1756, and certainly fell into the category of gifted and talented children. He started playing the piano at the age of three, and composing at the age of six. When he was eight years old the boy amused himself by writing his first symphony for all the instruments of the orchestra.
When I was about six years old, and too young to make an effective protest, one of my more severe aunts gave me a set of four gramophone records, seventy-eights. These were not for entertainment, but were intended to teach a moral lesson: don't cheat.
It was only a matter of time before yet another version of The Secret Life of Walter Mitty made it on to the big screen. I haven’t seen the movie with Ben Stiller, but I don’t need to. Walter Mitty has entered the realm of mythology, and his story is as universal as a love story. Everybody knows it, and everybody lives it.
Twelfth Night, January 5th, marks the end of the Christmas festivities. By midnight last night the decorations should have been taken down, the cards put away, and the final traces of the holiday removed.
It won’t be a Happy New Year on Wednesday unless we have provided ourselves with one essential life-enhancing item: an appointment book. Some people call them agenda books, or diaries, but I don’t have an agenda and gave up keeping a diary years ago when I realized that everything was repetition. I always buy the same kind of appointment book, not so small as to reduce my life to insignificance and not so huge as to suggest an excess of self-importance. Five by seven inches is about right, with seven days visible at a time. One week we can manage.