It's a lazy Saturday afternoon; day two of a four-day weekend. My wife is out with friends and I have nothing planned. I am, however, in possession of a credit card and reside within a seven-minute walk of three different bookstores (four, if you count The Works). That is, I have discovered, a dangerous combination, especially when I am left without adult supervision.
I actually went out to buy Sarah Lyall's book, The Anglo Files, because it keeps getting such bad reviews and I want to see how she is slagging off the British and what she's said to piss them off. I was not surprised to discover the book was not in any of the stores. (I was also both gratified and disappointed to find my book on the shelves of Waterstones—it's always nice to see your book on the bookstore shelves, but why hasn't it sold out yet?)
So, I came back home with Tom Bale's Skin and Bones, Alexander McCall's Tears of the Giraffe, a steak and Stilton pasty, an Easter card and some chocolate as a surprise for my wife and a bunch of flowers, bought on a whim. But the one item I went out for, I still don't have.
Luckily, there's Amazon UK.
(NOTE: I realize this hardly constitutes a post, but nearly two weeks have passed and I wanted to stick something up here to keep you from thinking I had abandoned the site. I actually have several posts planned. The one is progress is about Writer's Block but I'm having a lot of trouble with it. How ironic is that?)