The myth of Sisyphus...

You know the one about the guy who had to roll a rock up a hill...and then it kept rolling back again.

My greek mythology is a bit shaky - and Camus' always been a bit of a [Left] "Banker" for my liking, so I can't tell you what awful sin he's supposed to have committed.

I mention the poor fella because I've finally figured out what it must have felt like.

Every day I go into the library. And every day I read. And the more I read the more I realise I don't know. The more I realise I don't know the more I need to read. And the more I realise I need to read the more I read. And the more I read the more I realise...

Reading is taking over my life. What's worse is that If I had just a couple more months I know I'd do ok. But I don't. I suppose given this stupid degree has in fact taken me almost 6 years I'm really not in any position to moan. (6 years mostly spent in the pub, on the doorsteps of various marginal constituencies, or in an office fulfilling completely unrelated tasks - so I'm not a total loser...)

However I have had a couple of brief excursions away from library oblivion.

The first was to meet my Uncle Stan from Johannesburg who I've never actually met, and his wife Geraldine. We went for a walk in Hyde Park and then lunch at "Diana's" which is an insufferably kitsch cafe near Kensington Palace where Diana used to stop for brunch after going for a jog. (apparently. Whilst we were there, My Dad claimed further that her "usual" had been a lettuce leaf and glass of hot water. I haven't inherited his distasteful sense of humour.)

They were both really lovely. My Dad claims that Geraldine has fairly right-wing politics, for a (white) South African. Which is pretty right-wing I'd guess. But unless you count her 'firm but fair' instructions to the waiter over the lunch ("DON'T over-cook the EGGS!!!") I didn't notice anything untoward.

But this got me thinking. My Dad's uncle and aunty were imprisoned under Apartheid. My Dad left the country rather than practice law there and took up acting and writing - much of his early work dealing with the Apartheid question. My Granny Rose is pretty gung-ho for democracy and the like. Although being an 86 year old Jo'burger she'd probably be a prime case for "equal opportunities training". Basically, Uncle Stan's politics aren't exactly Aunty Geraldine's.

My Dad tells me that his brother has "reached an accomodation" with his wife's politics. I.e. he zones out and stares into the middle distance whenever she talks about it. (I noticed he did this a lot - even when she wasn't talking politics) .

So the question I asked myself was whether I could ever deal with a relationship with someone whose politics were so different from mine. Stan and Geraldine have been married nearly 40 years. I can't imagine being married that long - but I can imagine even less being married to someone with whom I disagreed on everything I felt strongly about.

I just don't think I could. But then the next question is - does that make me an intolerant person? I don't know. I don't suppose I care very much.

On a (slightly) related note - I'm "meeting the parents" this weekend. A quick trip to Leeds and a couple of days out of the Library. Wahey. Although I'm a bit scared. My plan to write a poem to her parents as a means of breaking the ice has been vetoed. So I'm not sure - maybe a song or something?