Learnt how to play whist last night at the tail end of a pleasurable/painful visit from the Pariyorkers. The pain had little enough to do with them - that was mostly me being relieved and exhausted by work on Saturday to the point of illness, and then more mishaps Sunday, et cetera. Stress, hard work; that all makes me stupid and sick. Oh well. Oooooooh well. Man was born to get and eat his bread in sorrow and in the sweat of his brow, and women were born to work full time for awhile, save a nest egg, invest it and switch to part time work before they lose their minds. Or so the Bible has selectively taught me.
Anyways, whist was great and it reminded me of Mrs. Bennett from Pride and Prejudice, which is a great book to be reminded of.
The Pariyorkers are slow movers and lovers of fat mornings, so I had time to dip my foot into the two Bloomsbury books - Madeleines in Manhattan and Mediated. Of course I meant to just read one and then the other, but Mediated, from the first 30 pages or so, looks really, really shitty. I mean, really shitty. A big shitty mess. So I switched to Madeleines in Manhattan and it looks incomparably better - less ambitious in terms of critiquing Modern Living, but charming, atmospheric, coherent and not fucking whiny at least, which is good because I'd prefer to start my relationship with this book provider with a review that isn't foaming over with annoyed bile because I've been forced to read through a whole shitty book that I wouldn't have chosen if I'd been in a bookshop and looked at the wankerish introduction.
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