C. S. Lewis

We now settled into a routine which has ever since served in my mind as an archetype, so that what I still mean when I speak of a "normal" day (and lament that normal days are so rare) is a day of the Bookham pattern. For if I could please myself I would always live as I lived there. I would choose always to breakfast at exactly eight and to be at my desk by nine, there to read or write till one. If a cup of good tea or coffee could be brought me about eleven, so much the better. A step or so out of doors for a pint of beer would not do quite so well; for a man does not want to drink alone and if you meet a friend in the taproom the break is likely to be extended beyond its ten minutes. At one precisely lunch should be on the table; and by two at the latest I would be on the road. Not, except at rare intervals, with a friend. Walking and talking are two very great pleasures, but it is a mistake to combine them. Our own noise blots out the sounds and silences of the outdoor world; and talking leads almost inevitably to smoking, and then farewell to nature as far as one of our senses is concerned. The only friend to walk with is one (such as I found, during the holidays, in Arthur) who so exactly shares your taste for each mood of the countryside that a glance, a halt, or at most a nudge, is enough to assure us that the pleasure is shared. The return from the walk, and the arrival of tea, should be exactly coincident, and not later than a quarter past four. Tea should be taken in solitude, as I took it as Bookham on those (happily numerous) occasions when Mrs. Kirkpatrick was out; the Knock himself disdained this meal. For eating and reading are two pleasures that combine admirably. Of course not all books are suitable for mealtime reading. It would be a kind of blasphemy to read poetry at table. What one wants is a gossipy, formless book which can be opened anywhere. The ones I learned so to use at Bookham were Boswell, and a translation of Herodotus, and Lang's History of English Literature. Tristram Shandy, Elia and the Anatomy of Melancholy are all good for the same purpose. At five a man should be at work again, and at it till seven. Then, at the evening meal and after, comes the time for talk, or, failing that, for lighter reading; and unless you are making a night of it with your cronies (and at Bookham I had none) there is no reason why you should ever be in bed later than eleven. But when is a man to write his letters? You forget that I am describing the happy life I led with Kirk or the ideal life I would live now if I could. And it is essential of the happy life that a man would have almost no mail and never dread the postman's knock.

Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life

(Thanks to zgoodword.com.)

Comments

[dandy gum]

absinthe minded
love it

[dave carrol]

Really cool blog.

Thanks!

[not_impressed]

Golly!
Smug tosser?
Control freak?
Where's the life?
Now I think I'm developing a real hatred for Lewis. Could be sour grapes of course: maybe I myself yearn for a comfortable routine.
But now I feel an urge to check out your Drinkers and Smokers categories, for an antidote.

[Travis]

I don't know what kind of eater Lewis must have been, but I totally disagree with his assertion that eating and reading go along together admirably. I mean, maybe if he's eating a steak everyday with a fork but. . . with my burrito diet, there's no question: VIDEO and eating go together much more admirably.

[mss]

After reading this, I admire CSL more than before. This ideal day sounds so lovely. And how nice to have someone else prepare the meals (well, I do) and do all the cleaning up (which is my job).

Eating and reading do go well admirably. In our household there is rarely one without the other. Sometimes we get too much into this habit and I wish for a bit of conversation.

As for the afternoon walks, only when I visit the Lake District does that seem inviting. Here in Texas it's 100°F and there is no joy in being outdoors.

[Joey Robert Parks (Ghostwriter)]

I just finished reading Lewis autobiography, 'Surprised by Joy' (http://tinyurl.com/jrp-suprisedbyjoy), last week. Though I did enjoy it, it's a bit of an awkward read. Much of the book reads very matter of factly and there are several words or phrases in each chapter that are lost in translation of the times, but the last few chapters are much more personal (ironic, considering an autobiography should be personal in the first place). For me, the best part was the second half of the book, in which the quote above about his "Bookham pattern" of daily writing is found.

Bookham was a village in Surrey, England where Lewis studied under a tutor in preparation for his college or university exams. The friend he took walks with in Bookham was Arthur Greeves, who would become a life-long friend. A book of letters addressed to Arthur from 'Jack' (as Lewis was known) is found here: http://tinyurl.com/jrp-arthur

In Lewis quote above, he says that after writing all morning, "If a cup of good tea or coffee could be brought me about eleven, so much the better." It's nearly 3pm in my case, today, but never too late to get out of the house in search of my favorite: an Espresso Cubano (Double short shots brewed with two packets of raw sugar)!