Go Darke

This bookshop has a rabbit…

Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. The kids went back to school today. We were so happy¹ we drove into town to go have a celebratory breakfast of bagels and overpriced lattes. And also cake (as it turned out). Afterwards we went to peruse used (but heavily curated) books at a nearby store.

[1] Personally I am quite glad to outsource this particular function again. Home-schoolers are assembled differently I’ve realized. I need some alone time. (or its the express elevator into madness for Joey)

We’ve been pummeled by winter storms all week, gale force winds, rain and snow (at altitude). Temperatures have dropped to about 10C (50F) at sea level which has made everyone exceptionally miserable as we plumb the depths of our wardrobes for suitable haberdashery. Walking through town is analogous to venturing outside at Scott Base to scrape ice off the antennae. (If one were to judge by the layering going on). I’m not even sure I’m being jocular.

The Spotify playlist is all Rodriguez and Lou Reed. Which suits me fine. ‘Don’t trip over the bunny’.

‘What bunny?’ As I almost do exactly that.

It’s a meaty New Zealander. Which is quite the misnomer, having been first propagated in California, I decide (post wiki). This one’s quite friendly. More Bigwig and Hazel than Woundwort². Probably won’t kill you in your sleep.

[2] May require a working knowledge of Richard Adams to make sense

I find a first edition Jock of the Bushveld. It’s battered, but I still want it, the price makes me suck air through my teeth and I gingerly put it back down. Maybe one day when I’m big. I end up buying this instead.

William Gibson once gushed about Lauren Beukes being some sort of Science Fiction savant. I’ve struggled previously with Zoo City and The Shining Girls. Fifty pages (of hard reading) into it I realize Moxyland isn’t going to do it for me. I don’t know why. Our boy-girl Lego doesn’t click³, no matter how hard I try. Sorry Lauren. Its probably more me than you.

[3] A Gibson-ism. Pattern recognition, I think.

I found my copy of Enders Game this week, having had to relocate our bookshelves so we could redo our floors, gentrifying the original tiles to some sort of scandi-pine simulate. Smashed that in a day and a half. It’s probably my tenth reading thereof, so maybe I was on a Sci-fi bend.

My former wolves are also unhappy about the weather situation and refuse to settle until I’ve spread their blankie out for them in front of the fire. Like me they actually suck at being feral alphas. Despite what we might want to believe about our prowess and capacity to endure.

My ancestors pulling their way across the North sea to visit the religious sites of Northumbria roll their eyes. How is this person related to us they harangue?

Truthfully I have no idea. But I’m definitely the dud.