Home life
Paper mountain
Alice Thomas Ellis
Ihave just cleared up another pile of papers. Well, almost. Whereas they were in one teetering heap at the far end of the kitchen table, now they're in a number of smaller heaps all over the kitchen table. Unanswered letters — which are going to stay that way because I never answer letters and it's probably the guilt occa- sioned by this that causes me to wake, sweating, in the small hours — constitute the largest pile. I'm not going to thrOW them away. I'm going to put them in a big envelope addressed to posterity, and after a while it won't matter that I haven't answered them; except of course for those associated with gas, electricity, tax, etc., and the people who sent them will un- doubtedly write again — so it doesn't matter what I do with them either. Invita- tions are more worrying since they reallY do demand a response and my instinctive response to suggestions that I go places and do things, especially in the evening, is not friendly. In a way I'm grateful to the Post i Office for being so unreliable because one I can always claim not to have received anY i mail at all.
One of the letters is from an earl inviting me to buy a bit of his castle on a time-share basis and to whizz off for the weekend and have a look. 'This,' he writes, 'is no crumbling, draughty, ancient keep.' It's luxurious with swimming pools and adven- ture playgrounds, and it sounds the purest hell. I like draughty, crumbling old ruins. Makes me feel at home. Our Aids warning has come to light together with the Sun! News of the World bingo leaflet and reminds me of the extraordinary turn everyone's conversation has taken. I don't know anyone who a few years ago would have discussed the inadvisability of anal intercourse at lunch. For some reason I have a masonic leaflet and not the remotest idea where it came from. It suggests halfway through that since gauntlets are seldom worn and are probably mouldering away in drawers they should be sewn up at the narrow end and used to collect the alms. What a good wheeze. Now I find a splendid leaflet giving 62 reasons for the naffness of the New Mass. Did you know that six Protestant ministers collaborated in making it up? I knew it, I knew it! I was never a very good Catholic and now I'm an absolutely lousy one because whenever I do force myself to Mass I find it impossible to feel religious since its ugliness makes me irritable. I don't mind Protestantism if it keeps itself to itself but I don't want to be one. If I did I would. And I won't shake hypocritical hands with a load of smelly strangers, God forgive me. I go to church for the sake of the Lord and if I feel like shaking hands With people I'll do it in my own good time. You can see that this New Mass idiocy has made me not only a worse Catholic but a worse human being. I'll probably have to put in extra time in Purgatory. It isn't fair. I see in today's paper that some stupid nun says there is no scriptural basis for oppos- ing the ordination of women. Oh yes there is. I understand why men are getting so sullen and resentful. It looks as though bossy womankind won't trust them to do anything by themselves. There's a copy of Agatha Christie's After the Funeral lurking under several maga- zines and mss, so I'll read that this after- noon and calm myself down, and when I've done that I'll read Maxims and Examples of the Saints which Andrew gave me on Saturday. And when I've done that I'll put 115, mind to the problem of why I've got a bit. of paper bearing the address of Tariq Ali tucked under an ex-apple in the fruit bowl. If anybody's got any ideas I'd rather they didn't write and tell me. I prefer to figure it out for myself.
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