A Sara tem neste momento a canção mais deliciosa que pode ser ouvida em toda a blogosfera.
Não basta ser alto. firstname.lastname@example.org
Faz hoje precisamente 5 anos, 1 mês e 8 dias que pereceu Auberon Waugh, o maior de todos. Deixo link para um dos obituários (útil para quem desconhece a grande figura) e transcrevo mais uma magnífica crónica do Telegraph retirada de Closing the Circle – The Best of Way of the World, editado no ano da morte de Bron Waugh.
Tuesday’s newspaper carried a handsome obituary of an odd friend of mine, Bobby Corbett, who has died at 58. In size and prominence, it might have been the obituary of a dead Cabinet Minister. Those who had not heard of him will have been even more puzzled by a caption to the appropriately huge photograph: “Corbett: gift for placing unusual information into conversational banter.”
In truth, Bobby did nothing else. Born with prodigious gifts of discrimination, intelligence, imagination and memory, he devoted them simply to amusing himself and his friends. He left no children, which is sad, but he also left no books, no paintings, no new laws, no proposals for the reform of society. There are those who would describe any life dedicated to the unswerving pursuit of pleasure as a wasted life, but it occurs to me that his was probably the most intelligent approach to all the problems of existence.
After Oxford, our paths diverged, as I accepted the undignified necessity of earning a living, and he embarked on his magnificent pretence of being a rich man (which he wasn’t) and having inherited a great fortune (which he hadn’t).
No doubt any books he wrote would have been excellent, but by now, they would be no more than an additional piece of clutter on the domestic scene. Journalism is forgotten in a day, as any good journalist knows. A new history of the Spectator edited by Simon Courtauld, is due to be published by Profile Books at £20. At first glance, I decided it attached insufficient importance to my own contribution as a regular columnist for 32 years. It was a dull book, and I would not read it. But who on earth is going to read any of these wretched books in a year or two? Bobby Corbett, with his infinitely superior intelligence, showed us what fools we all are.
13 Março 1999