Its a pissy day in the Limousin, sorry to get all meteorological with you but there it is.
That and my bad back have conspired to put me in a bad mood. If I cannot leap up and do physical tasks at a whim I get all melancholic then positively gloomy.
Even my collection of unread books have no appeal. I once heard a description of someones book collection; which was obviously just collected to make the owner appear erudite, as
‘Wall to wall fitted Sartre’ .
The unread part of my collection; I hasten to add is to make me feel protected from too much Frenchness.
Yes! I had better keep hastening now I have said that.
Its like this; I can reach out my hand and fully grasp the words in my English language books when I am feeling: not so much home-sick as isolated I suppose. There is no obligation to stick with the book for better or worse, in fact the potential in them to communicate with me is usually enough to calm my nerves.
I have always liked books you see.
I have no standards however; and if you offer me a book on ‘Practical Widget Polishing’ cheap enough I will snatch it from you and run home chortling and feeling like I have got one over on you.
After all if widgets need polishing round your house your going to feel a right ninny.
She who must be obeyed is upstairs polishing her CV as we are returning to the UK soon to earn some well needed cash.
She worries about exaggerating her experience and skills on the CV, and I have reminded her that exaggeration is the norm these days; and as long as she just falls short of actually claiming to have ascended to a higher plain of existence the tone will be about right.