30.10.38
By orwelldiaries
Fine, not very hot. One egg.
Tags: weather
This entry was posted on October 30, 2008 at 6:30 am and is filed under Domestic. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
October 30, 2008 at 6:48 am
Simplicity.
October 30, 2008 at 7:01 am
Runny yolk?
October 30, 2008 at 7:33 am
Oh, and now we know what was important to the greatest minds of mankind :)
October 30, 2008 at 9:45 am
George twitters! What are you doing in 140 characters or less. He really should get an account…
October 30, 2008 at 10:10 am
Had George known that, later this evening, the World would be attacked by aliens, he might have cherished that solitary egg a bit more.
October 30, 2008 at 12:24 pm
how much goat milk? sour or OK ?
we need more George!
egg Haiku?
October 30, 2008 at 1:44 pm
I wonder how people who find this site today will think of it.
October 30, 2008 at 2:44 pm
One fine egg, not very hot.
October 30, 2008 at 2:52 pm
Since we are not that far into this 5 year journey with Eric Blair, I hope that anyone who finds this site today would scan the preceding posts.
October 30, 2008 at 3:07 pm
I’ve known people who fit that description.
October 30, 2008 at 4:46 pm
[...] to love George Orwell’s minimal diary entry for 30th October 1938: Fine, not very hot. One [...]
October 30, 2008 at 4:47 pm
Very hot, not one egg…Fine!
October 30, 2008 at 5:10 pm
Doesn’t anyone here have chickens? One egg is totally noteworthy.
October 30, 2008 at 5:17 pm
I think of him sitting down in the evening, pen in hand. How does he sum up this day?
October 30, 2008 at 6:32 pm
[...] George: I must again commend you on your succinctness. “Fine, not very hot. One egg” likewise describes many sad Sunday mornings in my twenties. There was a period in which I would wake up alone in my San Francisco hovel after a night of unsuccessful carousing, realizing that it was “not very hot” in both the literal and figurative senses. I would then walk to the refrigerator, ponder breakfast, and observe that there was one lone egg in a cardboard carton. (Which in turn reminds me of my crazed attempt to soundproof a basement at the age of nineteen. But that’s another story, George, for another one of your dutiful diary entries!) I had developed a strange habit of cooking many eggs on Saturday morning, but had not yet developed the dexterity to cook a decent omelette. But I was more ashamed by my failure to count the eggs. Looking at the sad shelled elliptic leftover, it seemed somewhat futile to whip up some scrambled eggs from one yolk. “Scrambled egg” was the more accurate breakfast appellation, but it sounded like a 75 cent side item on a dive menu. You could have the “scrambled egg” if you had were a bum with change jangling in your pocket. But real men ordered “scrambled eggs, sausage and toast” for $4.99. Regrettably, I was often too lazy to walk to the convenience store down the street. It was an altogether different walk of shame from me — a bachelor who couldn’t keep track of his eggs, much less perform shopping with any reasonable frequency. And so I would cook the one egg, sometimes singing a Ray Davies song to tap into some irony that really wasn’t applicable, consume the scrambled concoction and realize that it wasn’t what you might call a reasonable breakfast. Fine, not very hot. One egg. [...]
October 30, 2008 at 7:47 pm
Dear Responding/Reluctant Habits (???)
Leave George’s supply of seasickness meds (previous post) alone!!!
October 30, 2008 at 8:15 pm
Dear Reluctant;
I had a peek @ your site, I must compliment you on your “Fart” essay.
What I like the most about Englishmen 1900-1920 (?) was their ability to put pen to paper, most evident in their letters to each other… I enjoyed very much Martin Gilberts (perhaps overlong) books on W Churchill. That guy (WC) new how to put words on paper,and economicaly too.
My favorite WC line;told by a hostess “If you were my husband I would put poison in your tea” WC reply; “If you were my wife I would drink it”
In this world of online writing (and to some degree in GO’s diary) I’me not getting that so much.
Haiku or not
Anyone agree?
October 30, 2008 at 8:59 pm
i think the number of comments per post here are inversely proportional to the number of words per post. might be a general blog rule, i’m not sure.
October 30, 2008 at 9:10 pm
Personally, I do not consider this to be a “diary” in the traditional sense of the word; rather, I consider it a Log of Interesting Things (smells, bow-drills, squished insects, goat diarrhea, barbecue grills, flora, crummy plows, puny donkeys, lousy fruit, chicken parasites) that might be useful in the future. Even though I have a good memory, I know that if I wish to ensure that I will remember something, I should write it down.
Therefore, I don’t expect emotion or the minutiae of his relationships or breathtaking prose or, even, something “interesting” each and every day.
The diary of Samuel Pepys—now that’s a “diary.”
October 30, 2008 at 9:27 pm
Andrew;
# of comments = 10000/# of words per post(squared)
We are mostly keeping track of eggs and milk at present. Once GO “goes deep” we’ll all be lost…
JL3;
I missed the goat diarrhea entry-date? cause? ramifications? solution? resolution?
Oh ya while I’me on a role here CAN someone tell me why Eric Blair had to call himself GO/// Was their a fatawa (??-S Rushdie) out on him,or did it sound better than Blair…
October 30, 2008 at 9:43 pm
LOL
I googled “orwell diarrhea” and, about half-way down the first page, there it was—10.18.38.
October 30, 2008 at 10:13 pm
JL3;
thanks for that,
To think you can “google” the phrase “Orwell diarrhea” is a telling comment on 2008… Both good and bad
Wonder what GO would have made of the internet…or Churchill or any great mind…
Some of the greatest drivel can be found online…
Editor: Including you Dave,go to bed.
November 1, 2008 at 9:01 pm
How much he was enjoying to use only six words to desscribe whole a day ?
What feeling he has memorised on this day with so few ?
November 6, 2008 at 5:33 pm
One egg, not two. GO clearly ate healthy and maybe even healthier on warm days. Do you think the egg was fried, scrambled, dropped or boiled? Did he have a preference? Did he ever get any on something he was writing? Did he ever have any on his face?