MOZART MUZEUM + BARBORA BACK
I spent the day, until 3:00, reading, doing one hour’s work for Milena and then thought – This is ridiculous, I am twenty minutes away from the centre of one of the great cities of Europe. What am I doing? – I’ve had this thought before but haven’t acted upon it so promptly, deciding instead to turn the page and go on reading.
Today however I got out my Plan Město1 and found the Mozart Museum. It was very easy to find, being just around the corner from Anděl. I took the Metro and was there in three quarters of an hour.
There were some interesting exhibits: a couple of pianos (supposedly) played by Mozart, the earliest surviving poster for Don Giovanni; some period instruments. Then there was a concert in the garden given by a musical family – the father played flute and the mother and daughter played harp. I was glad that I had stayed for the concert, even though they aren’t my favourite instruments.
I walked over the bridge and caught the train to Náměstí Míru, intending to have dinner in my hotel-restaurant. It was shut.
Walked down to I.P.Pavlova and Metroed home. Barbora had got back but wasn’t in the flat. I cooked a meal and then went back to reading.
Barbora popped in, flushed, said ‘Toby, come here and kiss me.’ Then came towards me and kissed me. All English reserve.
Bothered by my reaction when mother walked into the room after returning from the Lake District, not having seen me for three months. The least I could have done is hugged her2. Instead I acted shitty. Was printing part of the novel out. Also forgot to look for Dad from the train. A bad hello, and a bad goodbye.
Barbora keeps coming in and going out again. Finished the Rimbaud biog3 – will probably finish the Isherwood tomorrow. I’d like to read some late, autobiographical Huxley next.
Temporary halt in the novel as I’m writing poetry again. At last I’m getting some regularity and detail into this diary, and into my handwriting. Haven’t given my presents to Barbora (tea) and Jitka (a tape) yet, or to Charles (Viz, 20 JPS4). I gave the typewriter cartridges/ribbons to Karl, they cost more than I expected, but how could I leave him, a novelist, stuck in the middle of Eastern Europe with no means of typing? It does make the other presents look disproportionately small. Also Charles has given up smoking.
Town Plan. Like a Czechoslovak version of the A to Z. I am relieved to read this entry, and to see young-Toby taking this attitude. I’d have him get out more, just as I’d have myself do the same.
This is bad. This is painful to read.
Enid Starkie, Arthur Rimbaud: A Biography, New Directions, 1962. What is there to do, when reading a biography of Rimbaud, except feel inadequate and fake and relieved?
John Player Special cigarettes. JPS were known for their sponsorship of a Formula One racing team. They had stylish black and gold trim on their cars, as opposed to the more gaudy red and white of McLaren (sponsored by Marlboro cigarettes) — for whom James Hunt won the World Drivers’ Championship in 1978. Young-young-Toby briefly had a poster of James Hunt on the wall of his bedroom, and also collected cigarette advertisements (Benson & Hedges in gold) from his parents’ Sunday Times Magazine.