A quiet weekend by myself in the house (as The Physicist has gone to Glasgow to play bridge…) meant a bit of work, lots of tidying (in an effort to procrastinate productively) and a bit of reading and blogging. Nothing much has happened this week: work got harder but is still distinctly bearable, I only cycled two commutes because it was so cold (although actually that’s daft logic because I’m warm within 5 minutes which is less time than it takes to walk to the station…) and The Physicist continued to not do the corrections to his thesis. I am beginning to suspect that permanent student/unemployed person is a status he occasionally enjoys.
This week I read The Fault In Our Stars by John Green, which everyone has been raving about; I read 100 pages and got annoyed about the fact that the 17-year-old boy does not talk like a 17-year-old boy, read another 100 pages quite happily, got to a sad bit and couldn’t trust the book not to make me cry on public transport so on my desk it sat until Friday night. In the end I didn’t cry. In between, I read a bit of The Etymologicon which is rather good fun although I find the relentless cheery, jokey voice a bit grating after a while. I’m about halfway through that – borrowed from the Kindle Lending Library, actually.