Fair blathered me, it did!

[caddyman]

It's just turned midnight as I begin to write. ellefurtle is abed - probably hidden under the covers and trying to get back to sleep as fast as her racing heart will let her. It's my fault, see.

She is reading a book called The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova.

She was tired and came up to The Tower a good half hour before me and started reading. After I'd finished watching telly I came up and poked my head in the semi-dark bedroom. It was my intention simply to wash my hands and splash a little cool water on my face. Young Furtle was already in bed, the book open next to her and her glasses tilted slightly; she had clearly dozed of whilst reading. I washed my hands and then stood for a moment watching her sleep.

This is where it all went wrong. I must have stood on the loose floorboard, which creaks rather splendidly, and Miss Furtle awoke. The first thing she saw, of course, was Yours Truly standing in the shadows. I daresay the adrenaline surge that made her jump in fright was amongst the strongest she'd ever had; she managed to scare the bejasus out of me, too. How, I ask you, was I supposed to know a) that her book was a retelling of the Dracula story and b) that having dozed off whilst reading, she was dreaming about it.

At least she didn't wet the bed.

I nearly did and I wasn't in it.

Today has been a good day. I booked a day's leave and we have pottered around doing as little or as much as we pleased at any point. We took a wander down to Finchley in the afternoon pretty much to pootle around - I came very close to buying a microwave oven (Gad, but I seem to be getting very domestic), but managed to spend the money instead on two tubs of Ben and Jerry's Apple Pie ice cream, a cushion for herself and 24 cans of coke. I shall spend the rest tomorrow on a TARDIS USB hub.

In addition to that frippery, the seven year old in my head, who refuses to acknowledge then passing of the past forty years, has just got a hold of my credit card and ordered the complete season 1 of Gerry Anderson's Captain Scarlet.

I'll never be rich.

I must read that book after Elle has finished with it. In the meantime, I will crack on with my copy of the excellent The Beatles: the biography by Bob Spitz, which was recommended by telemeister. An excellent read and very well researched, bizarre American spellings aside.

Right; a little more surfing and then to bed - provided I can manage that without scaring the living daylights out of Miss Furtle.

Comments

[ysharros.livejournal.com]

Hee! I'm reading taht Historian book too. Great subject matter, but the writing suffers sadly in comparison with Donna Tartt's "The Little Friend," which I read just before. Been meaning to post for a few days about the sadness of disappoinred expecrations in books, but never got round to it.

Tell Elle I sympathise about things that go bump in the night. If she finds a blank book with a dragon woodcut in the center, Bry - run! :-)

[mollpeartree.livejournal.com]

Once, when princeofcairo and I hadn't been living together very long, I mistook him for a burglar/rapist when he woke me up coming into the bedroom one night, and shrieked to wake the dead. The neighbors ... did nothing. Nice building!

That must be a pretty good Dracula book.

at the risk of being a spoiler...

[bluesman.livejournal.com]

I have read some very unkind reviews about the Spitz Beatles bio, particularly regarding dates, names, etc. So much of the band's history has become mythology - even in their own words, in the Anthology book - that it's now difficult to separate fact from fancy. The only way one could do that is by shooting up Paul and Ringo with dangerously high doses of sodium pentathol (sp?). In the meantime, I think this bio is the best on the band, except for the hurried ending. I was particularly gobsmacked by the revelation, near the beginning of the book, about a half-sister.

Maybe Elle should read it. She'd have no nightmares.