Sunday, 5 December 2010
Today, like many Londoners, I gravitated to Trafalgar Square. I wanted to see the beautiful spruce sent to the people of London from the people of Oslo. They do it every year, have done since 1947. It's a gift of hope, a gift of love, a loyalty that persists through the good years and the bad. It keeps coming even when we're out of fashion and the world hates us, when we're no longer swinging, when we cannot cope with two inches of snow. It's that kind of persistence that a writer needs, and I breathe in its green-ness, its sharpness, its mystery. I determine to go home and reapply myself to the novel. We love you, Norway.