The charm of the boy

Went to see Becoming Jane last night with my sister. It wasn't fantastic or wonderful or marvellous, the usual words for a film that I really enjoy. It was however, just right. Quietly agonising with that peculiar pathos of the British broken heart. I know a little of the history of Jane Austin and I know she never married so I knew how that little romance was going to end but crazily I hoped for a diffent ending! And by golly that James McAvoy can act and although young is not my thing usually, he was particularly beautiful and intense.

There was one particular scene where LeFroy and Henry Austin were pelting down a hill, running hell for leather and they looked so...young thatI felt really quite old. What I mean is that these young men had such energy and hope and strength and ...well, I don't. I felt the cold breath of my own maturity on the back of my neck. Which is why I think there is such a fond sorrow for films like this.

Just read this over and I sound particularly pathetic but really this is the mood of the passing moment. Like mist to be burnt off by sunshine of the full day. I have plenty of hope, there is lots to look forward to, but twenty seems such a long time ago.