Is incessant discussion usually boresome?
Mar. 9th, 2020 09:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
todayiamadaisyHello, f-list. New job is going well. I think. Seems to be. I haven't accidentally set fire to the building or anything, so let's call it positive. It involves a lot more looking at a computer screen than my previous jobs, so I'm doing less of that at home to give the old eyes a rest. Which means I have a month's worth of words jotted down that should have been entries. Let's do this.
Chester
One night a few weeks ago there was a knock on the door just before midnight. That's never good, is it? I opened it to Brian Next Door, who said, "You haven't seen Chester, have you? Someone opened the gate and he got out." Chester is Next Door's little terrier, very old now, mostly blind and arthritic. He's run over here other times he's escaped, so I helped Brian search the garden, but we didn't find anything. I felt terrible thinking about him lost and lonely in the night; Next Doors would feel worse.
The next morning as I was heading off to work, Next Door's car pulled into their driveway. Brian got out of the passenger side and waved to me, holding up Chester so I could see his wagging tail. Kim got out of the driver's seat and came over to the fence. "He found his way home then?" I said.
"No, we had a call from the vet on the highway at half-past seven. Someone picked him up on the highway last night and dropped him to the vet this morning and they got our number off his chip."
So that ended a lot better than it could have.
Extra day
It's a leap year, and there was a lot of fuss about 29 February, the extra day. What did I do with my extra day? I had two naps. I had a cold, you see. An actual cold, which has been going around the City by the Sea, and not the novel coronavirus. (Although it could be *A* coronavirus, said my mother helpfully, there's lots of them.) It was all over quickly, but I do feel robbed of my extra day.
The unwanted guest
Mister Alistair Cat was sitting outside in the potted bay tree when I shut up the house last night. I turned off all the lights and went to bed. Five minutes later I heard PADPADPADPADPAD as he trotted up the passage. So far, so normal... but something wasn't right. He normally meows, I thought, and turned the light on to find out why he was being uncharacteristically quiet, just in time to see him come through the doorway with a mouthful of mouse. I said, "No!" and he dropped the mouse, which turned out to be still alive. It ran into one of my slippers; he jumped on it; it ran behind the open door; he sat at the end of the door and settled down to watch. The mouse ran under the door, down the passage and into my mother's room. Alistair stayed where he was, convinced the mouse was still behind the door.
I woke my mother and we searched her room unsuccessfully for the mouse. No help at all from Alistair, who was still staring behind the door when I finally went to bed.
That will do for today. Tomorrow (or whenever): updates on flowers, soaps and knitting.
February books read
* Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont - Elizabeth Taylor (1971) ★ ★ ★ ★
Mrs Palfrey, an elderly widow, moves into the Claremont Hotel; she meets a young writer called Ludo and convinces him to pretend to be her grandson in front of the hotel's other residents. Shortlisted for the Booker in its day, this is a beautifully observed reflection about ageing, loneliness and terrible families.
* The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Provence - Katrina Nannestad (2018) ★ ★ ★ ★
A charming sequel to The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Rome, this book finds the trio settling in to a small French village to eat éclairs and solve a bout of vandalism.
* The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Lucerne - Katrina Nannestad (2019) ★ ★ ★ ★
The adventures of the girl, the dog and writer come to an end in Switzerland, with their arrival coinciding with a spate of mysterious chocolate thefts. Delightful and charming.
* With a Bare Bodkin - Cyril Hare (1946) ★ ★ ★ ★
When I was a junior accountant, back in the Dark Ages, we had a client who would bring her monthly tax receipts in on a bodkin, and we would often joke that it might pose a danger to the most irritating accounting partner. So obviously, the title of this drew me in. I'm glad it did: it's a sharp little mystery with well-drawn characters, let down only by a clunky and unlikely romance.
* Death Walks the Woods - Cyril Hare (1954) ★ ★ ★
I'm reading my way through the collected works of Cyril Hare, and this has been my least favourite so far. Not because of the story itself, which is, as always, well-written, peopled with believable characters and involving an obscure point of law. I just felt it got bogged down in the interminable "who could see whom walking up and down the hill" part.
* The Wind Blows Death - Cyril Hare (1949) ★ ★ ★ ★
While I dislike mystery novels that hide too much, I think this one goes too far in the other direction, tipping its hand way too early, letting me work out whodunnit but not whytheydid. Still, this was a delightful, cosy murder romp.
* Tenant for Death - Cyril Hare (1937) ★ ★ ★
This is the first of Cyril Hare's books I've read that doesn't involve a tricksy piece of law as part of the motive; this one is a more straightforward procedural about the murder of a shady businessman. An interesting structure, beginning with short chapters about a collection of unrelated people, whose connection gradually becomes apparent. Overall I thought it dragged in the middle and ended abruptly, but not without some fine moments.
Chester
One night a few weeks ago there was a knock on the door just before midnight. That's never good, is it? I opened it to Brian Next Door, who said, "You haven't seen Chester, have you? Someone opened the gate and he got out." Chester is Next Door's little terrier, very old now, mostly blind and arthritic. He's run over here other times he's escaped, so I helped Brian search the garden, but we didn't find anything. I felt terrible thinking about him lost and lonely in the night; Next Doors would feel worse.
The next morning as I was heading off to work, Next Door's car pulled into their driveway. Brian got out of the passenger side and waved to me, holding up Chester so I could see his wagging tail. Kim got out of the driver's seat and came over to the fence. "He found his way home then?" I said.
"No, we had a call from the vet on the highway at half-past seven. Someone picked him up on the highway last night and dropped him to the vet this morning and they got our number off his chip."
So that ended a lot better than it could have.
Extra day
It's a leap year, and there was a lot of fuss about 29 February, the extra day. What did I do with my extra day? I had two naps. I had a cold, you see. An actual cold, which has been going around the City by the Sea, and not the novel coronavirus. (Although it could be *A* coronavirus, said my mother helpfully, there's lots of them.) It was all over quickly, but I do feel robbed of my extra day.
The unwanted guest
Mister Alistair Cat was sitting outside in the potted bay tree when I shut up the house last night. I turned off all the lights and went to bed. Five minutes later I heard PADPADPADPADPAD as he trotted up the passage. So far, so normal... but something wasn't right. He normally meows, I thought, and turned the light on to find out why he was being uncharacteristically quiet, just in time to see him come through the doorway with a mouthful of mouse. I said, "No!" and he dropped the mouse, which turned out to be still alive. It ran into one of my slippers; he jumped on it; it ran behind the open door; he sat at the end of the door and settled down to watch. The mouse ran under the door, down the passage and into my mother's room. Alistair stayed where he was, convinced the mouse was still behind the door.
I woke my mother and we searched her room unsuccessfully for the mouse. No help at all from Alistair, who was still staring behind the door when I finally went to bed.
That will do for today. Tomorrow (or whenever): updates on flowers, soaps and knitting.
February books read
* Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont - Elizabeth Taylor (1971) ★ ★ ★ ★
Mrs Palfrey, an elderly widow, moves into the Claremont Hotel; she meets a young writer called Ludo and convinces him to pretend to be her grandson in front of the hotel's other residents. Shortlisted for the Booker in its day, this is a beautifully observed reflection about ageing, loneliness and terrible families.
* The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Provence - Katrina Nannestad (2018) ★ ★ ★ ★
A charming sequel to The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Rome, this book finds the trio settling in to a small French village to eat éclairs and solve a bout of vandalism.
* The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Lucerne - Katrina Nannestad (2019) ★ ★ ★ ★
The adventures of the girl, the dog and writer come to an end in Switzerland, with their arrival coinciding with a spate of mysterious chocolate thefts. Delightful and charming.
* With a Bare Bodkin - Cyril Hare (1946) ★ ★ ★ ★
When I was a junior accountant, back in the Dark Ages, we had a client who would bring her monthly tax receipts in on a bodkin, and we would often joke that it might pose a danger to the most irritating accounting partner. So obviously, the title of this drew me in. I'm glad it did: it's a sharp little mystery with well-drawn characters, let down only by a clunky and unlikely romance.
* Death Walks the Woods - Cyril Hare (1954) ★ ★ ★
I'm reading my way through the collected works of Cyril Hare, and this has been my least favourite so far. Not because of the story itself, which is, as always, well-written, peopled with believable characters and involving an obscure point of law. I just felt it got bogged down in the interminable "who could see whom walking up and down the hill" part.
* The Wind Blows Death - Cyril Hare (1949) ★ ★ ★ ★
While I dislike mystery novels that hide too much, I think this one goes too far in the other direction, tipping its hand way too early, letting me work out whodunnit but not whytheydid. Still, this was a delightful, cosy murder romp.
* Tenant for Death - Cyril Hare (1937) ★ ★ ★
This is the first of Cyril Hare's books I've read that doesn't involve a tricksy piece of law as part of the motive; this one is a more straightforward procedural about the murder of a shady businessman. An interesting structure, beginning with short chapters about a collection of unrelated people, whose connection gradually becomes apparent. Overall I thought it dragged in the middle and ended abruptly, but not without some fine moments.