2008-07-28
Books
I had assumed that it was a promotion for one week only, but no. Today’s free book with The Times is The Accidental by Ali Smith. Published in 2005, the novel was short listed for The Orange Prize, The Man Booker Prize and James Tait Black Memorial Prize and won the Whitbread Award.
If you want a copy you are probably best advised to go to a supermarket or maybe a large chain newsagent such as Smiths or Menzies (do they still exist?). It doesn’t look as though the small local newsagents are carrying the promotion.
My first office coffee of the day seems, finally, to be waking me up; or at least allowing me to open my eyes for periods longer then 20 seconds…
If you want a copy you are probably best advised to go to a supermarket or maybe a large chain newsagent such as Smiths or Menzies (do they still exist?). It doesn’t look as though the small local newsagents are carrying the promotion.
My first office coffee of the day seems, finally, to be waking me up; or at least allowing me to open my eyes for periods longer then 20 seconds…
Books
I had assumed that it was a promotion for one week only, but no. Today’s free book with The Times is The Accidental by Ali Smith. Published in 2005, the novel was short listed for The Orange Prize, The Man Booker Prize and James Tait Black Memorial Prize and won the Whitbread Award.
If you want a copy you are probably best advised to go to a supermarket or maybe a large chain newsagent such as Smiths or Menzies (do they still exist?). It doesn’t look as though the small local newsagents are carrying the promotion.
My first office coffee of the day seems, finally, to be waking me up; or at least allowing me to open my eyes for periods longer then 20 seconds…
If you want a copy you are probably best advised to go to a supermarket or maybe a large chain newsagent such as Smiths or Menzies (do they still exist?). It doesn’t look as though the small local newsagents are carrying the promotion.
My first office coffee of the day seems, finally, to be waking me up; or at least allowing me to open my eyes for periods longer then 20 seconds…
Almost writer's block...
That one-off writer's block thing that I tried - 'describe yourself in one sentence' clearly worked. I haven't really felt moved to write about anything substantial for the past few days, just the odd inconsequential offering here and there, pretty much like this one.
I have some new stuff bubbling at the edge of my consciousness and it's beginning to think about needing to find its way onto the page, but I am finding it hard to concentrate in the heat. I had thought to spend some of my evening writing, but I'm not so sure, now.
Maybe later, if it cools down a little and my brane perks up.
I have some new stuff bubbling at the edge of my consciousness and it's beginning to think about needing to find its way onto the page, but I am finding it hard to concentrate in the heat. I had thought to spend some of my evening writing, but I'm not so sure, now.
Maybe later, if it cools down a little and my brane perks up.
Almost writer's block...
That one-off writer's block thing that I tried - 'describe yourself in one sentence' clearly worked. I haven't really felt moved to write about anything substantial for the past few days, just the odd inconsequential offering here and there, pretty much like this one.
I have some new stuff bubbling at the edge of my consciousness and it's beginning to think about needing to find its way onto the page, but I am finding it hard to concentrate in the heat. I had thought to spend some of my evening writing, but I'm not so sure, now.
Maybe later, if it cools down a little and my brane perks up.
I have some new stuff bubbling at the edge of my consciousness and it's beginning to think about needing to find its way onto the page, but I am finding it hard to concentrate in the heat. I had thought to spend some of my evening writing, but I'm not so sure, now.
Maybe later, if it cools down a little and my brane perks up.
Quiet
It is very quiet in rural - or even semi rural Shropshire.
This was brought home to me this evening when my sister phoned me from Wem seemingly to ask if we were having a thunder storm in London. We weren't, but apparently they were in Wem. The rain was hammering down, the thunder was crashing and the lightning flashing. More importantly, the humidity was clearing and the temperature falling.
Here in the capital, however, despite a little cloud of the high cirrus variety, the skies remained predominantly blue and heat only barely diminished by the onset of dusk. The humidity was majestically and serenely untouched.
A couple of hours later, while we were watching West Wing on DVD, I noticed evidence of some fat blobs of rain on the open windows of the living room, together with that welcome smell of rain on the breeze (such as it was) blowing in from the High Road. Maybe, speculated I, the thunderstorms have moved south and we will be getting some relief shortly, even if it means Furtle donning the bang hat.
No.
What little rain we had was just enough to anchor the dust to the ground (for which, much thanks, even if it is only temporary). Beyond that it dried very quickly and really only served to boost the local humidity, which of course, we needed because it was still just about possible to breathe without sweating cobs if breathing was the only activity we indulged in. That is no longer an option with our new and more efficient rain-charged humidity; bat an eyelid and a bead of sweat appears; blink and it runs down your forehead. Breathe and you may as well just make like a garden sprinkler.
Anyone who says they enjoy this weather should be taken out and shot: it is arrant nonsense; they lie.
This was brought home to me this evening when my sister phoned me from Wem seemingly to ask if we were having a thunder storm in London. We weren't, but apparently they were in Wem. The rain was hammering down, the thunder was crashing and the lightning flashing. More importantly, the humidity was clearing and the temperature falling.
Here in the capital, however, despite a little cloud of the high cirrus variety, the skies remained predominantly blue and heat only barely diminished by the onset of dusk. The humidity was majestically and serenely untouched.
A couple of hours later, while we were watching West Wing on DVD, I noticed evidence of some fat blobs of rain on the open windows of the living room, together with that welcome smell of rain on the breeze (such as it was) blowing in from the High Road. Maybe, speculated I, the thunderstorms have moved south and we will be getting some relief shortly, even if it means Furtle donning the bang hat.
No.
What little rain we had was just enough to anchor the dust to the ground (for which, much thanks, even if it is only temporary). Beyond that it dried very quickly and really only served to boost the local humidity, which of course, we needed because it was still just about possible to breathe without sweating cobs if breathing was the only activity we indulged in. That is no longer an option with our new and more efficient rain-charged humidity; bat an eyelid and a bead of sweat appears; blink and it runs down your forehead. Breathe and you may as well just make like a garden sprinkler.
Anyone who says they enjoy this weather should be taken out and shot: it is arrant nonsense; they lie.
Quiet
It is very quiet in rural - or even semi rural Shropshire.
This was brought home to me this evening when my sister phoned me from Wem seemingly to ask if we were having a thunder storm in London. We weren't, but apparently they were in Wem. The rain was hammering down, the thunder was crashing and the lightning flashing. More importantly, the humidity was clearing and the temperature falling.
Here in the capital, however, despite a little cloud of the high cirrus variety, the skies remained predominantly blue and heat only barely diminished by the onset of dusk. The humidity was majestically and serenely untouched.
A couple of hours later, while we were watching West Wing on DVD, I noticed evidence of some fat blobs of rain on the open windows of the living room, together with that welcome smell of rain on the breeze (such as it was) blowing in from the High Road. Maybe, speculated I, the thunderstorms have moved south and we will be getting some relief shortly, even if it means Furtle donning the bang hat.
No.
What little rain we had was just enough to anchor the dust to the ground (for which, much thanks, even if it is only temporary). Beyond that it dried very quickly and really only served to boost the local humidity, which of course, we needed because it was still just about possible to breathe without sweating cobs if breathing was the only activity we indulged in. That is no longer an option with our new and more efficient rain-charged humidity; bat an eyelid and a bead of sweat appears; blink and it runs down your forehead. Breathe and you may as well just make like a garden sprinkler.
Anyone who says they enjoy this weather should be taken out and shot: it is arrant nonsense; they lie.
This was brought home to me this evening when my sister phoned me from Wem seemingly to ask if we were having a thunder storm in London. We weren't, but apparently they were in Wem. The rain was hammering down, the thunder was crashing and the lightning flashing. More importantly, the humidity was clearing and the temperature falling.
Here in the capital, however, despite a little cloud of the high cirrus variety, the skies remained predominantly blue and heat only barely diminished by the onset of dusk. The humidity was majestically and serenely untouched.
A couple of hours later, while we were watching West Wing on DVD, I noticed evidence of some fat blobs of rain on the open windows of the living room, together with that welcome smell of rain on the breeze (such as it was) blowing in from the High Road. Maybe, speculated I, the thunderstorms have moved south and we will be getting some relief shortly, even if it means Furtle donning the bang hat.
No.
What little rain we had was just enough to anchor the dust to the ground (for which, much thanks, even if it is only temporary). Beyond that it dried very quickly and really only served to boost the local humidity, which of course, we needed because it was still just about possible to breathe without sweating cobs if breathing was the only activity we indulged in. That is no longer an option with our new and more efficient rain-charged humidity; bat an eyelid and a bead of sweat appears; blink and it runs down your forehead. Breathe and you may as well just make like a garden sprinkler.
Anyone who says they enjoy this weather should be taken out and shot: it is arrant nonsense; they lie.