Not a good day to dine in Chinatown, obviously, so I went to the Art Gallery's Members' Lounge to see what they had. They had a tiny portion of baba ghanoush for nine dollars. Ah well, have done that and need not do it again. Would have gone back to the exhibitions but my bloody hip was hurting too much to walk happily. This after acupuncture. Not sure what to try next: maybe strengthening abdominals?
Elly Griffiths, The Chalk Pit
-- last/latest Ruth Galloway, where the domestic drama accompanies the piles of bodies. Half soap opera, half murder mystery.
Dorothy Gilman, Kaleidoscope
-- by the author of the Mrs. Pollifax books. Fluff, about a psychic in a city with subways that isn't New York. All is for the best in this best of all possible worlds.
V.E. Schwab, A Darker Shade of Magic
-- to have it finished. And well enough in its Joan Aiken way, but its London is not any other London I know. Preview of book 2 is intriguingly Maid on the Shore but I doubt I'll read it any time soon.
The last/ latest Viscount St Cyr, speaking of melodrama and bodies piling up.
Desultory, The Armor of Light.
New Aaronovitch is on its way. Should probably reread Foxglove Summer and possibly the comics to prepare.