Monday 27 August 2007

Monday, Monday...

Hello again, and apologies for my absence over the weekend - while I'm on that, did you know that someone recognises a man as unsuitable for marriage, in a Nancy Mitford novel, because he uses the term 'weekend'? I think I'm right. And also clearly ineligible. Anyway, this apres-vendredi we had non-stop shindigging and jollities. People gathered from far and wide (mistyped 'fathered from far and wide', which gives an altogether misleading image of the party) to celebrate 25 years of marriage between OVW and OV. We barn danced - being the untalented version of a ceilidh - and had two days of people popping in and out. All very fun, and some literary conversations to boot.

Sadly, though, months spent in the West Country have obviously made me vulnerable to illnesses from the Real World, and I am now beset with an irritating cold. Hope and pray that this will have disappeared by the time I start work next week, as am rather wishing to impress my new employers with the impression that I am quick-witted and competent, not half-dead and bleary-eyed by half past eleven. I tend to be lethargic between 2.00-4.00 as it is (coincidentally, the time at which all my tutorials were scheduled in first year, leading my tutor to comment "Simon's essays are good, but when he has to speak about them, it appears to be a fluke". Thank goodness for morning exams.)

Today I began the packing process, by piling books onto a rug, and realising that I currently have nothing into which to pack them. The thousands of boxes we had when moving to Somerset two years ago appear to have risen to the Box Heaven in the Sky, and The Carbon Copy (who is moving to Bristol on Thursday) has commandeered the only one thus far discovered. And, despite the fact that I have carefully selected nigh on a hundred books to accompany me next year, they have left no discernible space on my bookshelves. Like gas, they fill the space available. That is right, isn't it? If my hazy recollections of drawing atoms is correct, gas fills whatever space it's in, accompanied by little 'whush' lines in pencil.

All in all, it's been rather a hectic time in the Rectory of late, and it is beginning to dawn that I am to enter the World of Work with great imminence (and very little eminence) and that's a leetle bit scary. Hope you'll all be there to hold my hand...

P.s. Apologies for dearth of sketches at the moment... they will be back...


  1. Simon, The very best of luck, I hope you find some stout boxes soon, you could not be parted from your books without a lot of suffering, and that we do not want .

  2. Simon, we'll all be with you, every step of the way!

  3. Try some echinacea for the cold, and good luck at work, I'm sure you will triumph. Perhaps the library will have some spare boxes for all those books ... ?

  4. Wishing you the best of first days! Your readers will eager await the news.

  5. Simon - I remember you telling me how apprehensive you were at going to Uni and I said you would be GREAT and you were, so I am NEVER wrong and you will be GREAT again when you start your life in the wonderful Bodlean (don't think that is spelled correctly..)


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