2. Have never noticed so many abandoned, discarded, or simply lost winter gloves on the streets as I have this year. One expects it in very snowy years, when the glacier's retreat reveals where the glove fell as you were wrestling groceries out of the car in a white whirling haze. But this year's mild winter? Perhaps so mild people didn't notice they weren't wearing gloves.
3. Grey moist May takes me back to my first trip to Japan. Even Tokyo smells of growing things, though come to that it never did in after years. Reading Feet of Clay takes me back to '08 and that cold Pratchett spring.
4. I'm reading The Midnight Mayor, hoping to find Other London there. (Skipped the first volume because the blurb sounded dull.) Close, I suppose, but not The Rivers of London. Aaronovitch still takes the prize for conveying Sense of Place. I find his distance to be just right. Ackroyd is too close-up frame-- every street named, every corner indicated: which only works if you're there. Griffin is too long distance pan-- London areas I don't know that sound generic when anyone actually gets there. (Could also be an Ackroydian case of 'you have to know the place to know what I'm talking about.') The same, I might say, goes for the Eternal London aspects of Griffin, though it's maybe my fault for skipping vol 1. Aaronovitch's new Thames gods feel somehow integral and right. The stone, the ravens, the concrete symbols of London in Griffin feel like a clever thought she had, not something she feels integrally in her bones. Very Gaiman, actually: who is always a bit too clever for my comfort.
She also has a Gaiman Neverwhere tic that irks me. I hope it was just an editorial requirement for the whitebread readers, but truly-- When a character has a S-E Asian name or an African one, I know they've got brown skin. Really. It's not necessary to keep mentioning the fact, and one needn't use the word chocolate either.