Another day, another half eleven scramble to post something, though today I have an excuse because it was book club and I was hosting, by which I mean, shoving all the child crap under the sofa, shoving the children upstairs and making some cookies, then some top quality fretting because my hostessing skills are about as good as my competitive snooker skills.
The book was The Versions of Us and it was quite poorly received generally ("confusing" or "gimmicky"), though I actually enjoyed it (I think I am quite a superficial and undemanding reader, I did not waste any time trying to distinguish between the three threads or remembering the character's children's names). 95% of the time was spent talking about other things, inc. terrorism (of course), multi-lingual presentation tips (inc. probably apocryphal Norman Wisdom joke and Gunther Oettinger), biting as a developmental phase, terrible mistaken paint jobs, books you grown out of, umlauts and the misogyny or otherwise of Milan Kundera (also, the pronunciation of "Milan Kundera").
The only other notable thing that happened today was I had cause to do a google image search on the phrase "French paraphernalia", which was very enjoyable, if confusing, thus (a selection):
French bulldog in a spaceman suit:
Armed Malian soldiers:
Whatever the hell this is:
And, erm, this:
YOUR MOVE, FRANCE.
Less than two days until holiday. I think the people I have told that I will be away with absolutely no access to email or phone believe I am joking. Uh oh. I mean, the landline works? Sometimes? If the rats haven't chewed it? Also I am having my picture taken tomorrow so my body has of course responded with conjunctivitis (left eye) and a massive spot (right cheek).
15% Unpleasantly sweet Gewürztraminer bought by me, not brought by book club members who have far better judgment/wine
20% Outfit dilemma
35% Holiday rage, as very accurately diagnosed by my great friend B, who also today sent me this story about police cats.