Ask not for whom the bell tolls

It's also been an emotional week or so in many ways, outside the daily grind of institutional problems. My boss's father died, as did the mother of a close friend, and in such situations, empathy naturally leads to consideration of mortality and its effect on those left behind. With death in mind, it's odd noticing how often it appears in daily existence - in texts discussed in class, on TV or in games.

As a student, I had little experience of losing loved ones (my grandfathers are both dead, but that's it), and literary texts on the subject were little more than admirable exercises in style. I've not experienced much more myself, but as friends have suffered losses (Cynical Ben's father died not long ago, too young, and another friend's husband committed suicide recently), my responses to the attempts of creative writers to express emotion becomes more visceral and emotional, as my Poetry students may have noticed when we read Silkin's poem on the death of his young son.

There are no words for emotions, a poet once said - but we keep trying. The more we experience, the harder it is to find them: words are often completely inadequate to the situation.

More happily, I got round to writing to my only surviving school teacher (well, the only one I'd  swerve to avoid), via his last known workplace. This morning, I received a witty, erudite and friendly letter from him, full of a decade's upheaval which has ended in happiness and comfort - few things are better for the spirits than a relationship refounded, as I've found out a few times in the recent past.