Gimlet eye

Spent most of the day in a murky haze, following last night's pleasant drink with a friend. My superior knowledge of Philip Marlowe's drinking preferences did not prevent me from exclaiming "Gosh, this tastes just like Fairy Liquid!" when taking my first sip of a make-shift vodka gimlet. Evidently my tastes are not quite so refined - or maybe it was the fact that we mistakenly added tonic to our glasses. Neither can I claim to be as hardy as Raymond Chandler, who once boasted that:

When I was a young man in the RAF I would get so plastered that I had to crawl to my bed on my hands and knees, and at 7.30 the next morning, I would be as blithe as a sparrow and howling for my breakfast. It is not in some ways the most desirable gift.

Still, perhaps Chandler was drinking a better class of alcohol than I was, as his description of the gimlet in The Long Goodbye is significantly more appealing:

The bartender sat the drink in front of me. With the lime juice it has a sort of pale greenish yellowish misty look. I tasted it. It was both sweet and sharp and the same time. The woman in black watched me. Then she lifted her own glass towards me. We both drank. Then I knew hers was the same drink.

Technically last night I was a woman in black. However I doubt that my gimlet-drinking technique was quite so appealing - or restrained. So this morning was spent sleeping in while the sun came in through the windows, and then lazily reading Haruki Murakami's latest novel, Kafka on the Shore. I think that it is the best of his novels so far - more directed than previous ones. That's not to say that some plot issues aren't left open, but somehow the narrative just ran more coherently towards a point where the reader can choose what they think. I really enjoyed it, but found again (as I did while reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles) that some of the descriptions of physical violence were discomforting.

This week I need to choose a title for a Yeats essay, and prepare my dissertation abstract, so I don't imagine that I'll have much time for reading novels. I feel almost constantly queasy with anxiety about everything that needs to be done. This weekend has been a waste of time, enjoyable as it was in parts, and I need to get back into a routine of academic work.