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So, it's that time of the month again (no, not that time. Well, actually, it is that time, but that's not what I'm talking about here). Yes, it's the time when free books get delivered to me. Lots and lots of brand new books, brought to my door by overnight courier from London. Why am I complaining? Well, I'm complaining because, apart from the fact that 99% of the books will be complete shit and they take up far too much space, this means I am a PRISONER IN MY OWN HOME. If I leave the house for more than five seconds, a FedEx van is sure to arrive and deliver the package to some neighbour I've never seen before. So even though it is a lovely sunny day and I would like to, you know, get some fresh air and go for a quick walk in the park, I must stay in, gazing out the window like the Lady of Shalott (actually, was she allowed to gaze out? Was that what crack'd the mirror? Although I can mysteriously remember the first two verses in their entirity -"on either side the river lie/ long fields of barley and of rye" and so on - I can't remember what the actual curse was. I remember it involved the bold Sir Lancelot parading down to the tower, of course, and that she ended up floating down the river and everyone said "she has a lovely face/God in his mercy send her grace", but that's it. Perhaps I should revive my LofS icon to remind me. And now ends 19th century Poetry Time).

Also, couriers despise me. They despise me because almost every time they arrive, I am in pyjamas. The same couriers keep turning up, and I know they think I am an appalling slattern who never brushes her hair or washes (which is not quite true). Even though I am usually unwashed and in pyjamas because I can't have a shower until they turn up. But I'm not too impressed with them either, or rather their employers, one of whom is called Midnight Express. How did they come up with that one? "We need something snappy, something that indicates our speediness, our great service - something reminiscent of a brutal Turkish prison full of sad western hash smugglers." I mean, really.

Anyway. Two of the couriers have turned up, so I should go and read what they have brought me. Even though it's all terrible. Oh, woe is me....


Feb. 7th, 2005 05:40 pm (UTC)
Okay, you're right. Except you are being kept from the delivery/repair people by the Best Baby Ever! And the only living being who keeps me from answering the door is Ju Ju, shouting for tuna. So I think you actually win.
Feb. 7th, 2005 07:07 pm (UTC)
Okay, yes. I am spectacularly ungrateful about my glorious baby. But, awfully, I keep being tempted to tell the few adults I interact with that they're really really clever if they make any kind of voice noises at all.

And! Ooh! I have ordered an iTalk attachment for my iPod, so I can record the Gnome's brilliant talking. Await!


fat pony like thunder
The Monkey Princess

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