On the upside, came in from playground and said to staff, 'Among the many things this daycare has swallowed is my black-' and got no further, because staff said, 'It's behind the water jug.' And there indeed was my black velcro brace. We 'r' psychic at work, or that staff and I are, because she always stops mid-sentence for some reason. As earlier: "Did you tell--" "Yes, I told J's mother he's out of formula." It's like being with family.
In my enforced and unwilling idleness,
Michael Innes, One Man Show
- Appleby, classic, confusing
Griffiths, A Dying Fall
- I think I'd like these better if they weren't written in present tense, but it's hard to tell. The Perils of Ruth Galloway plus all her man-trouble plus dear *god* every other woman seems to be a thin stunning blond with high cheekbones and long legs, you'd think we were in Los Angeles rather than Norfolk. Are there no dumpy Englishwomen in the fen country?
Another Griffiths, The Outcast Dead.
So why am I reading her? The men in Ruth's life are obnoxious, except for the ones who leave. I read for Cathbad the druid, as screwed up as everyone else (gay-sliding-into-asexual me *does not understand* this perennial merry-go-round of liaisons and one night stands in Ruh's circle that err well screw up people's lives so deeply) but he's also psychic and in touch with the other world. Not all the books alas are as 'is it supernatural or natural or both???!' as the first one, but I live in hope.
(holds head in hands) Two more Griffiths from the library this afternoon. Because I want an easy-read series for the dreary season and this is all I have, even if it isn't all that easy to read.