|10:14 pm - Monday in not quite March|
The new asparagus is in and I would happily eat a whole bunch at a sitting, favouring it over things like cheese and ham and crackers. Alas, I seem to recall reading something about asparagus poisoning, and while I can't find it on the net, it's worry-niggling. Nothing in excess, I suppose. Eat carrots instead.
My new puncture-proof tire had a punctute this morning. Slow leak from the detritus of winter and construction- nail, stone, piece of glass, I didn't ask. Mild nuisance, anyway.
One should let Ian Rankins mature between readings, but instead, after finally finishing the antepenultimate Rebus, I polished off the penultimate on the weekend and am now on the last one. This because I don't want to read Midnight in the Garden etc now it's got to the trial, and have Who killed Sherlock Holmes coming to the library shortly, in spite of the inadvisability of reading Paul Cornell ever.