{"id":5551,"date":"2026-09-15T12:08:47","date_gmt":"2026-09-15T11:08:47","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/?p=5551"},"modified":"2026-09-15T12:57:25","modified_gmt":"2026-09-15T11:57:25","slug":"cosy-rebel-part-ii","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/archive\/cosy-rebel-part-ii\/","title":{"rendered":"Cosy Rebel, Part II"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Further recollections from the first \u2018On Diaries\u2019 event, held at the Betsey Trotwood on 22nd<\/sup> August 2026.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a>
Left to right: Travis Elborough, Dickon Edwards, Victoria Redfern, Robert Wringham<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

I used to dread public speaking, self-conscious as I was of my strange voice, with its quasi-posh monotone and its lisp. I was sensitive to people mocking me for the way I spoke. But now, as with all people over 50, the mockery is a given: the mockery of the body. So many former anxieties drift away, eclipsed as they are by the gratitude of being alive at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I now feel more at home speaking on a stage than I do when not<\/em> speaking on a stage. I enjoy the process of trying to speak in a polished, quotable manner, as I try to do when writing. It\u2019s a fun thing to live for. And if no one turns up, I can just sit there and work on my phrases. A polished style is its own reward, whether dressing or writing or speaking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is a joke among musicians: \u2018No tickets sold? Great! Free rehearsal!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Onstage, I talk about how a good diary shoud record three things: feelings, places, and technology. This leads to Rob W reading an entry by Samuel Pepys, in which Pepys has a boozy night out in seventeenth-century London while becoming addicted to his brand new toy: a pocket watch. Everything is there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I point out the benefits of reading diary books. Some non-fiction books label themselves as \u2018self-help\u2019, or carry the word \u2018adventures\u2019 in a subtitle. But all books should be fun and helpful anyway, if they are any good. Any author of anything must leave the reader empowered, or encouraged, or eased, or just entertained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Diaries are a particularly good way to deal with otherness. This can be the otherness of sickness, or of queerness, or loneliness or simple failure. One example that ticks all those boxes is the diaries of Lou Sullivan, where he deals with being a gay trans man living with AIDS in the late 1980s, as well as being a frustrated author.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The best diaries about sickness include Barbellion\u2019s Journal of a Disappointed Man<\/em>, Derek Jarman\u2019s Modern Nature<\/em>, and Virginia Woolf\u2019s A Writer’s Diary<\/em>, her salve for her mental precarity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think of the painter Keith Vaughan, who treated his terminal cancer with an overdose, and wrote his diary up to the very second that he lost consciousness. I once saw his journal on display in a glass case. It was turned to his last words: \u201cIt wasn\u2019t such a bad life. I did some good work.\u201d And then the pen drops into a long line down the rest of the page, like a flatlining heartbeat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my case in 1997, I was dealing with a rather pettier crisis: the pronounced death of my hopes to be a pop star, with the band Orlando. I didn\u2019t know what to do with myself, so I started a diary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Writing is a need, but publishing is a risk. Putting one\u2019s life online risks looking deluded or narcissistic, or just adding to the amount of irritation in the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nevertheless, it is the same sentiment as writing graffiti, or taking a photo, or sending a message, or posting on social media. All these activities are saying the same thing: \u2018I too am alive.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, when faced with age or imminent death or just the feeling that the world has closed its doors on you, it becomes the need to say: \u2018I too was once alive\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For me, this urge was so strong in 1997 that I couldn\u2019t wait for blogging platforms to be invented. I had to post the first entries in raw HTML code. It felt like the Puritans at Plymouth Rock. That thrilling new world, that fresh blank space of sanctuary, the 1990s web.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back then, normal people scoffed at the internet. They called it a kind of CB radio for lonely misfits who couldn\u2019t get a proper publisher or a record deal. That was of course what we liked about it. Good, we misfits thought. Leave us our sanctuary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then in the 2000s, normal people joined the internet. And ruined it. I am now a lone, peculiar, crumbling old chapel in a city of identical skyscrapers. But I too am alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The problem with social media is not only being at the mercy of dubious private companies, who can delete your post or even your whole account without warning. The true problem is that many people waste their chance to say something different. They have the power to get a message out to the whole world at once, something that was dreamed of by their ancestors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And yet nearly always this message is the same: \u2018Here is my cat. Here is my breakfast. Here is my bottom\u2019. The breakfast one is the least excusable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So in a time of widespread narcissism it is important to practice wholesome<\/em> narcissism. Putting this desperation to be liked to good use. Hence my mission to get people to think about diaries. Writing a diary, whether online or on paper, offers far more control and is much better for the mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Memoirs are hampered by structure, but anything goes with a diary book. Much of Volume One<\/em> is meant to entertain, but there is some sadness there too. In the final entry there is a scene in a late night takeaway where I am first mocked then physically assaulted. You will have to buy the book to learn what I did in response, but suffice it to say that unlike Phil Spector I did not pull out a gun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the Betsey Trotwood, Rob Wringham, who is not just one of the performers but is also the book\u2019s publisher & editor, is asked why he chose to end with that entry:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u2018I wanted people to know what it costs to be Dickon Edwards.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next show is in Hastings, at the Waves Bookshop, on Friday 16th<\/sup> October, 6.30pm. Free but places must be reserved on Eventbrite (link<\/a>). <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Next: I return to London to discover that old writer friends have become podcast superstars.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

A paid subscription to my Substack, Svelte Lectures (link<\/a>), grants you access to many exclusive articles, all of which<\/em> are intended to leave you feeling better off. There are pieces on Shakespeare and flowers, Heartstopper and the Carry On films, Christopher Nolan\u2019s homoerotica, Angela Carter meets the Beatles, and the dandyism of Muriel Spark.  <\/em><\/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 nearly thirty years of exclusive knowledge, all searchable and free to read without adverts or algorithms 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\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Further recollections from the first \u2018On Diaries\u2019 event, held at the Betsey Trotwood on 22nd August 2026. I used to dread public speaking, self-conscious as I was of my strange voice, with its quasi-posh monotone and its lisp. I was sensitive to people mocking me for the way I spoke. But now, as with all […]<\/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-5551","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\/5551","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=5551"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5551\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5566,"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5551\/revisions\/5566"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5551"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5551"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dickonedwards.com\/diary\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5551"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}