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Aug. 29th, 2010 10:58 pmLast day of my holiday, boo. In preparation for returning to work tomorrow, I cleaned shoes. I don't do it as often as I should, but I quite like cleaning shoes. Nugget on, nugget off, shine.
I think it is time to move some of my shoes down the pecking order from 'work' to 'smart casual' and so on, meaning I need a new work shoe. I have been looking and have found the ugliest one ever made.
[Poll #1612248]
Perhaps it just reminds me of the shoes worn by the elderly nun who ran my primary school.
Today I also finished reading The Brontës Went To Woolworths by Rachel Ferguson (1931). (I picked it up because of the title, yes, and the cover. I am just that shallow.)
It is... interesting. It is about a family (three girls and their mother) who are down-at-heel bohemians who create elaborate fantasy lives for real people that they seem to believe to a certain extent, and what happens when they actually meet one of those people. It starts off with the eldest sister, the narrator, saying she once turned down a proposal because she was in love with Sherlock Holmes at the time. I recognised my younger self in some of the early parts. Only then it ends on a strange note. The family is a happy little unit, but it makes the people around it unhappy. So the book is at once a celebration of eccentricity and a warning about it. I am not sure if I liked it or not, but I'm glad I read it.
I think it is time to move some of my shoes down the pecking order from 'work' to 'smart casual' and so on, meaning I need a new work shoe. I have been looking and have found the ugliest one ever made.
[Poll #1612248]
Perhaps it just reminds me of the shoes worn by the elderly nun who ran my primary school.
Today I also finished reading The Brontës Went To Woolworths by Rachel Ferguson (1931). (I picked it up because of the title, yes, and the cover. I am just that shallow.)
It is... interesting. It is about a family (three girls and their mother) who are down-at-heel bohemians who create elaborate fantasy lives for real people that they seem to believe to a certain extent, and what happens when they actually meet one of those people. It starts off with the eldest sister, the narrator, saying she once turned down a proposal because she was in love with Sherlock Holmes at the time. I recognised my younger self in some of the early parts. Only then it ends on a strange note. The family is a happy little unit, but it makes the people around it unhappy. So the book is at once a celebration of eccentricity and a warning about it. I am not sure if I liked it or not, but I'm glad I read it.