He roars out a song in a voice that is sweet--I wonder how that happened?
Of grandeur that's gone, rare viands to eat,
And treasure that used to be laid at his feet.
He picks up his phone, faded, wrinkled and torn,
Though banded in ermine, moth-eaten and worn,
And held at the throat by a twisted old thorn.
The usual annoyances of this book list, including the 'not if you ripped my fingernails out' entries (The Road, Atlas Shrugged, Twilight) and the…
Because Pratchett must be rationed or I find myself reading nothing else and overdosing, my next reads are LeGuin's Lavinia and an Oxford Press…
Spent the day in sleep gear (I don't wear pyjamas as such) which is probably a bad idea, but once in a while won't kill me. Besides it was raining,…