{"id":5213,"date":"2020-03-15T17:11:47","date_gmt":"2020-03-15T16:11:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/?p=5213"},"modified":"2020-05-07T11:17:18","modified_gmt":"2020-05-07T10:17:18","slug":"journal-of-a-plague-moment","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/archive\/journal-of-a-plague-moment\/","title":{"rendered":"Journal of a Plague Moment"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

4 January 2020<\/em>. My talk ‘Notes on Camp 2019’ has been published at the Birkbeck website: http:\/\/www.ccl.bbk.ac.uk\/notes-on-camp-2019<\/a>. Somehow I relate Ronald Firbank to Killing Eve<\/em>. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

6\nJanuary 2020.<\/em> I read Mr Know-It-All: The Tarnished Wisdom of a Filth Elder<\/em> by John\nWaters, as bought at Ripley and Lambert, the new film bookshop in Dalston.\nWaters: ‘You need two <\/em>people to think\nyour work is good \u2013 yourself and somebody else (not your mother). Once you have\na following, no matter how limited, your career can be born.’ <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 **<\/p>\n\n\n\n

7\nJanuary 2020.<\/em> With Jon S to see Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker<\/em> at the Tottenham Court Road Odeon.\nThis is a half-hearted and essentially forgettable work. Star Wars <\/em>is surely an exhausted franchise by now. The scent of\ndesperation is palpable: trying to make something new yet not too new, and trying\ntoo hard to please the fans, who are never happy anyway. Stevie Smith once\nreplied to a fan, ‘You liked my book and want more of the same? Read it again.’\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Odeon’s idea of a\n‘small’ popcorn is a giant overpriced bucket of the stuff. That this sort of\nthing still goes on at cinemas is baffling. To prefer arthouse cinemas might\nseem snobbish, but the present management at Odeon seem utterly uninterested in\nsuch things as beauty and reason.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

9\nJanuary<\/em> 2020<\/em>.\nWoolf’s diary for the 20th<\/sup> of February 1930, on wasting time, which\nnow seems to predict social media. ‘This fiddling and drifting and not<\/em> impressing oneself upon anything \u2013\nthis always refraining and fingering and cutting things up into little jokes\nand facetiousness \u2013 that’s what’s so annihilating.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

14\nJanuary 2020.<\/em> To the Glory pub in Lower Dalston, also\nknown as Haggerston, for an evening of work in progress variety acts. I’m there\nfor ‘Velvet Webb’, the drag character of Ivan Kirby. She’s wonderful, like Victoria\nWood’s Kitty mixed with Elizabeth Taylor in Boom<\/em>.\nDrag is very popular now, a good thing, as it lends itself to such a wide range\nof creativity. At the heart of this trend is the feeling that all is camp now\nanyway \u2013 we only have to look to the politicians. In a time of too much\nimagery, people with noisy, exaggerated appearances cut through. We are living\nthrough a time of Populist Camp. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

18\nJanuary 2020.<\/em> I read Unreliable Memoirs<\/em> by Clive James, and find myself coming across\nlines that Dad once quoted to me in delight, decades ago: ‘We scored no goals.\nCount them \u2013 none.’ There’s an unexpected reference to Firbank, as the sort of\nname dropped by pretentious students: ‘As they worked, Cameron and Spencer kept\nup an exchanged of allusive wit that I found at once daunting and exhilarating.\nSpencer called something Firbankian. Who, what or where was Firbankian?’ <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later on, the student James\neducates himself on these figures, and puts on a stage show. Against a modern\njazz soundtrack, he takes to the stage and improvises ‘monologues in which such\nnames as Ford Madox Ford and Ronald Firbank figured prominently. The audience\nstormed the exits.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

23\nJanuary 2020<\/em>. Looking around on the Tottenham Court Road\ntoday, 80% of the men have the same look. A beard and a beanie hat. If nothing\nelse, I like to think I supply punctuation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

25\nJanuary 2020.<\/em> My income as a fully funded PhD student\nis \u00a317,000 a year, which though appreciated does not go very far. Many PhDs do paid\nwork alongside their research, usually teaching. For my part, I am relying more\nand more on donations to the diary, my only asset. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Money is the way we\nindicate value. If you think a work has value, and the creator is asking for\ndonations, the right thing to do is donate. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

28\nJanuary 2020<\/em>. The phrase ‘limp-wristed lullabies’ suddenly\nsurfaces in my memory. It’s from a 1990s Huggy Bear record sleeve, I think. It certainly\nsums up my present interests.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

30\nJanuary 2020<\/em>. A Ronald Firbank field trip. To Borough\nGreen with three fellow Firbank enthusiasts: Richard Canning, Alan Hollinghurst\nand John Byrne (not the Scottish writer). We have dinner at the home of Jenny\nFirbank, widow of Digory Firbank, grandson of Ronald’s uncle (Charles Herbert\nFirbank). Also present is her son Charlie, which makes him the great-great-grandson\nof Ronald’s grandfather, old Joseph Firbank, the Victorian railway builder. Joseph\nis the other family member in the Oxford\nDictionary of National Biography<\/em>.  <\/em>The entry for Ronald was written by Alan\nHollinghurst. I mention this at dinner. ‘Thanks for that’, says Charlie. ‘I\nthink I was paid \u00a325,’ says Mr H. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

We’re here to see one of\nJenny’s possessions, the rare Alvaro Guevara painting of Ronald from 1919, in\nwhich he is shown sitting in his flat at 48 Jermyn Street. Firbank described it\nat the time as ‘a perfectly brutal little study’ of himself ‘huddled up in a\nblack suit by a jar of Orchids, in a d\u00e9cor suggestive of Opium \u2013 or (even)\nworse!’ Jenny also has a wonderful print by Jean Carzou: a spiky masked female harlequin,\nin silhouette. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am given a present by Charlie\nF. It’s a paperback of Michael Moorcock’s Lives\nand Times of Jerry Cornelius <\/em>(1976; repr. London: Grafton, 1987). Charlie\nthought I’d like it for the following quote: ‘Things had come to a pretty pass\nwhen the work of Firbank was ignored in favour of his imitator Waugh whose\nprose, diffuse in comparison with that of his master, was thought to represent\nthe best of English style.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

31\nJanuary 2020.<\/em> Brexit fireworks in some parts of the\ncountry, but not in Dalston.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tuesday\n4 February 2020.<\/em> I see the new David Copperfield<\/em> film at Islington Vue, directed by Armando Iannucci.\nColourful, energetic, blowing the dust off the source material. A deliberately\nmulti-racial cast, too, seeing if Dickens can take the same treatment as\nShakespeare. I hope there’s more like it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

4\nFebruary 2020.<\/em> When buying a cinema ticket online, I am\ntold: ‘Simply show this email on your phone’. It’s now the assumption that\neveryone has a smartphone, that ‘apps’ are as essential as shoes. When I go to\nmeet my mother off a train at Liverpool Street, I find out that there’s no\nlonger an arrivals board, showing which train arrives at which platform. I ask\na staffer, who gives me the information by looking at his smartphone. ‘We\nassume people have phones these days’. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even Alan Hollinghurst\nhas a smartphone, as I discovered on the Firbank trip. I finally give in and\nbuy an iPhone on the web, albeit a \u00a399 refurbished SE model from four years\nago. Modern life, here I come.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

6\nFebruary 2020.<\/em> I submit my PhD Upgrade document. This is\nthe halfway point of the thesis, when a sample of 25,000 words has to be given\nto the university to be assessed. If it’s good enough, I am ‘upgraded’. If it’s\nnot, I may have to do the PhD equivalent of being kept down a year. Here’s\nhoping. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

7\nFebruary 2020<\/em>. I abandon Clive James’s follow-ups to Unreliable Memoirs<\/em>, tiring of his\nrenaming of real people. An Australian feminist writer who was at Cambridge\nwith him in the 60s is called ‘Romaine Rand’. This coy approach to memoir irritates\nme. If you’re going to change the names of real people, you may as well write\nan autobiographical novel. Memoir in this form has a dryness <\/em>to it: a sense of not wanting to get one’s hands dirty. I\nrealise that I’m doing some of that with this diary, but diaries make up for it\nwith a heightened sense of immediacy, coupled with liberation from the necessities\nof longer forms. Diaries combine the snapshot with the lucky dip. No need to\ncrowbar the material into a beginning, middle, and end. Just dip in. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

8\nFebruary 2020. <\/em>Keen to read more new novels, I finish Such a Fun Age<\/em> by Kiley Reid. The book\nhas been hyped as ‘the new Sally Rooney’, but it’s much wryer than Rooney,\nwhich I like. Final line: ‘And some days, Emira would carry the dread that if\nBriar [the child she sat for] struggled to find herself, she’d probably just\nhire someone to do it for her.’ On going to the mall: ‘Santa Claus made an\nappearance at the aquarium to say hello and talk about recycling.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

** <\/p>\n\n\n\n

9 February 2020.<\/em>\n‘I KILL YOU’ shouts the teenage boy at me. This has just taken place at Euston\ntube station in the evening, by the ticket barriers. I was about to go through\nwhen I noticed the boy and a couple of his friends, all clad in black hooded\ntops and tracksuit trousers, are dodging the fare by squeezing behind other\ntravellers as they walk through the automatic gates. Rather than let them use\nme in this manner, I back away from the barrier and watch them react. One of the\nboys is clearly the leader \u2013 this alone is interesting. He’s got through okay,\nbut his friend who was hoping to wedge himself behind me has now been frustrated.\nFrom the other side of the barriers the leader looks back and gestures at his\nfriend, indicating me as if to say: ‘use that guy, go through after him’. The friend\nshrugs in panic: ‘he won’t go through’. No one else is about. The friend gives\nup and vaults physically over the barrier \u2013 something I definitely did not <\/em>do in my youth. By now the leader is\nstaring directly at me. I stare back \u2013 a Paddington Bear stare. It is here that\nhe shouts his death threat and runs off down the escalator with the others. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why\ndid I act this way? There’s some hypocrisy, as I did the same fare-dodging\ntrick once or twice myself when I was his age. Today, I think one of my\ninstincts is to play neither the whistleblower nor the accomplice, but the\nspanner in the works (the queer, in every sense). It’s the same instinct that once\nmade me reply to a scam caller on the telephone with the words, ‘What are you\nwearing?’ Mainly, though, I sensed these boys were, unlike me at that age, not\njust fare-dodgers but alpha males, even illegal ones. Lads of violence. And given\nthe death threat, I was right. Had he looked\n<\/em>like me at that age I may have been more complicit. An unkind reader might\nsuspect that, given the bad English of ‘I KILL YOU’, I was reacting against\ntheir revealed non-British status, but I’m not against that at all. It’s just\nthe thuggery. Well, that and the bad dress sense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nstill feel some guilt over this, but none at all in the fact that I’ve never\nthreatened violence, at least not pre-emptively. My core instinct is to\nchallenge the assumptions of such lads that the world is theirs, and show how other\nways of being are available too. I suppose that’s as close as I come to a\ncredo. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

As\nit is, I’ve been wished dead before. Usually by music critics.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

** <\/p>\n\n\n\n

23 February 2020<\/em>.\nI’m currently typing up handwritten notes I made five years ago. Some of them I\nhave no memory of writing. This is a form of communing with the dead. Every PhD\nhits a point where you start to research your own past self, the one whose idea\nit was. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

27 February 2020<\/em>.\nRe Orlando<\/em>.To stop time, camp it up. One definition of camp modernism might\nbe: ‘what if modernism but too much’. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

28 February 2020<\/em>.\nThe coronavirus has meant that everyone must now wash their hands more\nregularly. This is hard on Default Man. Throughout my adult span, every time I have\nused a gents toilet, even a university one, I have seen a man walking straight\nfrom a urinal or a cubicle to the exit. Today, things are different. All it\ntook was the realisation that the act can be a swagger. Men are now washing\ntheir hands in earnest, albeit with a lot of ostentation and noise. And\npossibly a sea shanty. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

1 March 2020<\/em>.\n I am such a natural self-isolator that\nthe only words spoken to me in person today have been ‘are you using this\nseat?’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A\ntable of Young People in this pub, saying ‘the hill to die on’ too loud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Waldemar Januszczak in the Sunday Times<\/em> today: ‘No amount of crossing your fingers and hoping will ever turn Leonora Carrington into a good painter [\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6] She is always naff.’ It’s good when critics say this sort of thing, as it means you can confidently ignore everything else they will ever write.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

2 March 2020.<\/em>\nBritain has 39 cases of the new coronavirus, and Boris J has said it’s likely to\nbecome a serious problem in the coming weeks. All the Boots branches I visit\ntoday are out of hand sanitizing gel. It’s thought that some people have bought\nthem in large amounts, not to stockpile for themselves but to resell for\nprofit. It’s interesting what reactions the situation is bringing out in\npeople: the best and the worst. As for me, I am panic-buying old editions of\nRonald Firbank. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

7 March 2020.<\/em>\n‘Two patients who tested positive for coronavirus have sadly died’. The word ‘sadly’\nshould, one would have thought, be implicit. Clearly not. This jarring little\nadverb, an added insult to the bad news, must now be supplied. A linguistic lubricant,\nlest the system behind it appear cruel. What will survive of us is not love,\nbut PR. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

9 March 2020.<\/em>\nFinish Swimming in the Dark <\/em>(2020) by\nTomasz Jedrowsky. A gay romance among graduates, set in Poland during the early\n80s. The dedication is moving alone: ‘To Laurent, my home’. Some beautiful\nprose: ‘The shame inside me melted like a mint on my tongue.’ The underrated power\nof gay books is touched upon, specifically Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room<\/em>, banned in Poland at the time. ‘Here was a book\nthat seemed to have been written for me. It healed some of my agony and my\npain, simply by existing.’ I’m irritated, though, by a party scene in which\n‘Heart of Glass’ by Blondie plays. ‘Blondie’ is referred to as the singer,\nrather than the band. No excuse for that, not even communism. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

10 March 2020.<\/em> I see Portrait of a Lady on Fire <\/em>at the Rio. Another historical gay romance, this time among women during the late 18th<\/sup> century, in a crumbling coastal ch\u00c3\u00a2teau. The film dares to be slow and quiet, and lets the lingering gazes really linger. It’s a film about looking, particularly women looking at women, as opposed to Orlando<\/em>, in which the gazing is queer but androgynous. Men are close to absent. The only line in this film said by a man is ‘Good morning’.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

11 March 2020.<\/em>\nThe UK now has over 400 cases, with 6 deaths, and it’s thought there’ll be much\nmore. Assuming the virus will be defeated, it’s likely there will be more in\nits wake, unless humans change their crowded, globe-trotting ways. Looking for\na silver lining, I wonder if air travel will become occasional and special\nagain, even glamorous, rather than constant and humdrum. When I was at primary\nschool, before the days of budget airlines, a nine-year-old classmate gave a talk\nabout being on a plane; it was that unusual. I wasn’t aware that schools now took\nwhole classes on Alpine skiing <\/em>trips\nuntil the current news. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

13 March 2020.<\/em> The\ncoronavirus has become a pandemic. The government has moved from ‘contain’ to\n‘delay’. Birkbeck has cancelled its face-to-face classes. The library remains\nopen today, though, as does Senate House Library, where I write in my rented\ncarrel. This is a small lockable one-person study room, so I like to think this\nis self-isolating enough. Nevertheless, I’ve made sure that if I suddenly have\nto work from home, there’s nothing exclusive in the carrel that I need. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nchallenge is to write about the virus without infecting the reader with clich\u00e9.\nDisease itself is of limited interest, unless you’re in medicine. Say something\nelse, say something different. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All\nis Decameron cosplay now. One theme of the Decameron is the need to tell stories\nat a time of plague. Anecdotes, useful advice, fake news are all shared\nnarratives, told within a frame story. The same tradition includes the Panchantra<\/em> and the Canterbury Tales<\/em>. A frame structure suggests a bandage effect; a\nneed for containing and healing. There’s also a sense of infinite stories\nwithin the frame, like the 1001 Nights<\/em>\ntales, told to stay an execution. Even a sci-fi blockbuster like Inception <\/em>touches on this: Mr Leo and Mr\nCillian have their traumas healed through dreams framed within dreams. And now\nwe retweet to connect and heal, whether through anecdotes, observations, or\njokes. As Ms Didion put it, we tell ourselves stories in order to live. But\nwhen we really feel in danger, we frame <\/em>stories.\nWe go deep. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nphrase ‘doing the rounds’ applies to jokes, observations, and anecdotes as much\nas diseases, hence ‘going viral’. Social media may be new, responding to\nplagues with storytelling is not. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Today\n(noon on Friday 13th<\/sup> March) I do not have one of the two key\nsymptoms, a cough or a fever, at least not yet. Though I do have a dry throat\nand a flushed sensation that I’ve had before, one which doesn’t show up as a high\ntemperature. What I think I have today is not a dose of the virus, but a dose\nof high anxiety. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Evening:\nto the National Portrait Gallery for the exhibition Cecil Beaton’s Bright Young Things<\/em>. I decide it would be okay to go\nas long as I avoid crowds. I go during the NPG’s Friday late night slot, after\nthe day-trippers from the regions have gone home. There’s only a few people in\neach room, and I keep my distance. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nwalls, on the other hand, are crowded with beautiful ghosts. All the 1920s\nglamour and parties one can imagine. Lots of silver walls, glitter and shininess,\nall in Beaton’s exquisite black and white, plus a few paintings by Rex Whistler\nand the like. All the gang’s here. A young Evelyn Waugh cradling his pint of\nGuinness. Stephen Tennant lying down in profile as Prince Charming, first seen\nfor me on the cover of an El Records sleeve. Today I own some of Tennant’s manuscripts.\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is a mention of Firbank in Beaton’s description of Sacheverell Sitwell: ‘He held forth, in the deepest coke-crackle voice, on such diverse subjects as the castrati<\/em>, Offenbach, Norman wreaths, Ingres or Ronald Firbank’, while smoking Turkish cigarettes in ‘boyish, unformed hands’. Lots of 1920s cosplay. A young Beaton dresses up as King Cnut, sitting on a throne on a beach, close to the waves. His gesture to the sea is not the usual raised palm in ‘stop!’ mode, but a wagging finger. ‘Now, now, you naughty<\/em> waves\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6.’ <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A\nBeaton quote: ‘When I photographed Steven Runciman wearing his black hair in a\nfringe with a budgerigar poised on his ringed finger, looking obliquely into\nthe camera in the manner of the Italian primitives, I knew I had not lived in\nvain.’ All this English camp was a response to the trauma of the First World\nWar, just as the camp of Weimar Berlin responded to the Nazis. Camp often seems\nfrivolous, even inappropriate, to others. But to some, camp is survival. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Saturday 14 March 2020<\/em>. In the carrel. The lobby for the main Senate House building now has a large red sign saying ‘Coronavirus (COVID-19)’, followed by a status message. Yesterday this read ‘Business as usual’. Today it says: ‘Large events postponed. Avoid handshaking. Social distancing encouraged.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Quentin\nCrisp once said: ‘There is danger in numbers’. So now we have a new definition\nfor dandyism: self-distancing with style. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

**<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sunday 15 March 2020<\/em>. One joke doing the rounds, along with the virus, is about men having to talk to their wives for the first time, because of the cancellation of football matches. I am so grateful for being weird sometimes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

After looking at Twitter for a while today, exposing myself to so much news, hearsay, speculation, and terror, I make myself physically ill from information alone. Social distancing must include social media. Not isolation, not dependency, just moderation. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

This online diary was begun in 1997. It is thought to be the longest running of its kind. The archive contains over twenty years of exclusive knowledge, all searchable and free to read without adverts or clickbait. It depends entirely on donations by readers to keep it going. Thank you!
<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Donate<\/a><\/figure><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

4 January 2020. My talk ‘Notes on Camp 2019’ has been published at the Birkbeck website: http:\/\/www.ccl.bbk.ac.uk\/notes-on-camp-2019. Somehow I relate Ronald Firbank to Killing Eve. ** 6 January 2020. I read Mr Know-It-All: The Tarnished Wisdom of a Filth Elder by John Waters, as bought at Ripley and Lambert, the new film bookshop in Dalston. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5213","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5213","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5213"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5213\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5221,"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5213\/revisions\/5221"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5213"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5213"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5213"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}