Am in a very bad mood. Was kept awake by students partying in one flat. Then woken this morning by workmen hammering in another. The snow is melting, but I see more is forecast for weekend. I am exhausted, I would prefer to hibernate. I have finally started reading Hermione Lee's biography of Virgina Woolf, which I've had on my shelves for over ten years. It's a big book, 800 pages, God only knows how long it will take me to read. I love these words of Virginia: ... In fact I sometimes think only autobiography is literature - novels are what we peel off, and come at last to the core, which is you or me.