Jeffrey Bernard was unwell, but I'm feeling fine, thank you.

I’ve spent the holiday season thinking about the late Jeffrey Bernard, but for reasons that may or may not become clearer with passing time, I’ve avoided reading my brittle photocopies of his "Low Life" solumns in the Spectator.

Jeffrey Bernard at Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

For almost two years during the receding mists of the 1980’s, I abstracted Bernard’s columns as part of my job at what used to be called UNI/Data-Courier. Serendipitously, it transpired that the members of my department were not enamored of the stylistic quirks native to writing in the British English sense, so I was informally permitted to assume the title of resident Anglophiliac.

From the perspective of an essayist and polemicist, there was much to learn from the British way of writing. More importantly, as a serial admirer of professional dissipation, Bernard’s weekly ruminations deeply impressed me, even if all that remains twenty years on is an overall impression gleaned from my Bernard readings. Specifics intentionally elude me, and yet certain themes explored in this book review by Kevin McGowin should clue you as to why two decades haven’t dimmed the sensation.

Reach for the Ground: The Downhill Struggle of Jeffrey Bernard, by Kevin McGowin.

In case you were wondering, the reason why I generally abstain from dipping into my literary influences by frequent rereads is a subconscious propensity to imitate them in my own writing. That’s why I’m endeavoring to recall the influence of Bernard’s attitude on my writing style, but keeping my eyes averted from the columns themselves.

After all, I'll be trying to convey a New Albanian interpretation.

Photo credit (Bernard with Peter O'Toole): http://www.topfoto.co.uk/