Morning after Henri stayed over, bundled him into tartan shopping bag with wheels and took him back to Marchmont. Beautiful day and enjoyed spring blossom on trees in Meadows but when pointed this out, Henri just grunted which is most uncharacteristic. At his flat, helped him onto sofa, covered him with travel rug and found comforting DVD for him as he didn't feel like studying. Hung around for a while to make sure he was okay. Wasn't talking much - in fact, not talking at all.
Got home at lunch time and returned to writing introductory chapter of Granny Elena's memoirs which I have been procrastinating over for weeks. Started with episodes from her childhood in a large old apartment block in suburbs of Moscow. Wrote about relationship with her father, the famous Mikhail Bakhtin and how he developed his theory of heteroglossia with her; casting her in different roles to allow opportunity to communicate in variety of styles.
For the uninitiated, and just to prove that occasionally can understand literary theory, heteroglossia is the existence of two or more voices within a text. Apparently Granny Elena loved those Sunday afternoon sessions with her father, in his study.
They'd begin after Sunday lunch, and continue until mother appeared with afternoon tea: platefuls of delicious cakes, and glasses of tea.
Sometimes her mother would join them, always, Granny Elena pointed out, having something useful to contribute to her husband's theories. When Granny was older, her father would talk to her about dialogic matters, test out her understanding. This way, Granny Elena was superior intellectually to her peers.
Anyway was reading up on dialogism which we covered on the Masters but not in an intelligible way, when received text from Oscar. Oscar had called round at Henri's to help him catch up on the lectures he's missed recently, and found him in bad form. Wouldn't open door when Oscar rang. Oscar hopped round to back window to look in sitting room where we saw Henri lying on sofa. Eventually Oscar broke door down. Henri wouldn't talk. Wouldn't even howl, which worried Oscar even more. Phoned GP in case Henri threat to himself. GP came round and offered Henri anti-depressants which he refused, saying he'd find his own way to get better, although he couldn't think of anything at the moment. Henri asked if he could move in with Oscar until he felt better, but Oscar has very strict and very anti-guinea pig landlady, so this option not possible. Oscar asked me if I would let Henri live with me for a while but Henri didn't want this because he and Neville constantly at war. At that point, Oscar remembered a kind neighbour who had spare room, spoke to her and agreed Henri could use room until he feels better.
Went round to help Henri pack his possessions, then took him to new temporary home, again in tartan shopping bag on wheels.
Got him settled in then came home to work. Instead spent evening watching 12 episodes of The Simpsons -pure escapism.
Purrs Bakhtin
