Apr. 5th, 2004

liadnan: (Default)

Just a week and a half ago, I think, I made that fatal mistake of consciously realising that I hadn't been properly ill, in the sense of not being able to leave my bed, for ages, indeed that for once in my life I seemed to have made it through an entire autumn and winter without any serious lergies.

To do so was, I now penitently realise, to invite the judgement of fate upon my head. To then go and spend an afternoon standing outside a pub in the cold and drizzle for the dubious pleasure of watching two minutes of a disappointing boat race was pure foolishness.

The worst thing was the timing couldn't have been worse: with Easter approaching everyone wants work finished before the holiday, so I had to at least show willing. Nor could I escape the long and fairly important meeting, in which a frank and fair exchange of views was always inevitable, on Wednesday evening, though I kept silent as my head took the express lift to the sixth circle of hell.

Actually, that was the worst of it: stayed in bed Thursday morning, went in to the office to deliver some work at lunchtime, and somehow managed to go for some mild drinking with Fairymelusine, over from NYC. I doubt I was much more spaced out and boring than usual. Took Friday working at home, which is actually becoming more possible to do regularly, and should be even more so once major technical problems are fixed. Sat I spent pottering about at home, save for a short expedition to give some chap some money on his promise that if a crappy nag in whom I had far too much confidence did inexplicably well he would give me lots more back, then went to Part II of a friend's stag night (Part I having been Budapest); and Sun I went to lunch with Fairymelusine again. All in all a fairly busy weekend considering how crappy I felt.

Now I just feel as though I ran a marathon yesterday evening. Bah humbug.

liadnan: (Default)

Has there been a run on the leather market, and I unaccountably missed it? Were all reasonably-competent cobblers and members of allied trades recently killed in a freak accident on their annual skiing trip?

I think not.

So why precisely, is it now impossible to find a pair of properly-made normal black shoes which one doesn't need to consider having specifically insured?

Incidentally, various women write of things called "manolos" and "blahniks", also of "Jimmy Choos". What, in the name of buggery, are such things?

Perhaps, after all, there is one reason for wanting to be a hobbit: the enormous savings on footwear.

***

My recent bout of illness left me spending several chunks of last week in bed. I tried, indeed I did, to concentrate on work of two kinds: reading a very dense book about the architecture of Hagia Sophia and reading the Commonhold Act, but I failed. Instead, I made my way through Abhorsen, the last of Garth "I have a very silly name" Nix' sequence, and The Light Ages by Ian Macleod (a book that first caught my attention because I thought it was from that other M[a]cleod of the clan Macleod, Ken). The latter reminds me of Colin Greenland's Harm's Way more than anything else/ Both well worth reading, reviews, and a host of backlog reviews, coming shortly. Also currently reading Death and the Penguin, which is impressive so far. The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break is next up, though the only real reason I bought it was that it's on £5 special offer (along with lots of other things from Canongate) in Foyles.

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liadnan

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