Bump

Down to earth with a.

Feeling rather tired, and not a little glum, now that the trip to Edinburgh is over. Spent the day being told about the new Content Management System, which is super clunky, and is abbreviated to CMS, which made me think of the Centre for Medieval Studies. Blue Screen of Death stopped me getting on with some writing, this evening so have been distracted with R4, and a pot of yoghurt, as well as wondering what the guy over the road is doing with a specialized carbon bike. He looks like the messenger out of Spaced, just a bit older. I also hear a whiskey whispering my name...

I have been reading Scarlett Thomas's The End of Mr. Y., which was lent to me. Recommendations usually stop me reading something, but I persisted with this one. It's pretty good, rather fun, with a bit of a resemblance (at least in terms of heroine with rather ropey back-story) to Ian Bank's Whit. And a bit of The Ring meets a Catherine Fox novel. However, it irritated me with its belief in c19th dust-jackets (or was this a device to undermine the narrator's trustworthiness) and a misunderstanding about the location of "My Documents" on networked university PCs (ditto; both rather geeky points and hence should be ruled out of literary crit. court). The author has spent too long in a library. Interestingly, one of the National Express staff chatted with me a little about the book as she refilled my coffee (thank you, First Advance), saying she'd heard it was good, and was thinking of reading it. (Clearly, takes the opposite view of recommendations to me, and warily approaches texts.) I predict a film.

I am also about to be in print, wittering on about The Exhibition, in a journal aimed, it seems, at foreign tourists. I display a remarkable knowledge of Hollywood starlets (filled in for me by the journalist), and a silly story about Germaine Greer. Oddly, the best thing about it is the photograph. Got some more hints from the designers as well: the logo reminds me of Funny Feet ice-lollies that I used to enjoy as a child.

More grumpiness: I seem to have been afflicted by a minor cold, which has led to also sorts of crazy speculations, such as the need for a kettle with a torch on the spout for dark-kitchen tea making expeditions.