Ernest Hemingway.
I can’t imagine that anyone has not heard of him, but if you haven’t, go and read any of his work right now. I’ll wait.
This chap could write. I realise that my last post also featured an American author, but I am not on the verge of becoming a literary critic. I promise.
In addition to knocking out some cracking reads, Mr Hemingway saw a bit of life.
An American, he lived in Paris, Toronto, Chicago, Spain, London, Key West and Cuba. He went to both World Wars, the Spanish Civil War and got married four times. He got amoebic dysentery on safari in Africa and sailed extensively in the Caribbean. Being flown to medical attention after a plane crash, he was instantly engulfed in a second plane crash.
Impressive eh?
Throughout his life, Mr H was fond of a drink. Actually, ‘fond of’ might be understating it a little. At the time of his death, he was rumoured to be drinking a couple of pints a day. Of whiskey.
He was (incorrectly) attributed with inventing the Bloody Mary, drank his Martinis dry enough to make your eyes water, and memorably penned the following;
“I drink to make other people more interesting.”
Ernest Hemingway committed suicide. As did his father, brother and sister. Startling sad.
His writing will live for ever.
It’s Saturday. As you raise your glass tonight – raise it to Ernest. I think that he would approve.
