Pure magic: All windswept and rained upon I haunted the University Library yesterday, searching not for my lost head but for a writer’s magazine that was supposed to be there – but wasn’t. I looked bleedin’ everywhere, dripping water all over the place, and none too discreetly. And the whole thing was very boring until I finally went to sit down in a dark corner in the foreign language novel section. My hand stretched out, and all by chance it got hold of The Year of the Flood.
Margaret Atwood is a favourite author of mine, but I never read that particular novel. Therefore, I huddled down in my lonely corner and read on until the library guard came and found me and threw me out (not because of the windsweptness and the rained uponness, it was closing time). On the way out, however, I managed to bleep the book in the check-out machine. And now it’s here, with me in our very own home, curiously waiting for me beside the reading chair. So to hell, I say, with catching up on the cleaning the apartment department, with doing the dishes and dealing with laundry! I’ve got reading to do.