Not to be outdone by the hand-fracturing antics of my gorgeous guitar teacher, Mr WithaY has today been diagnosed with a "deep-seated chest infection".
Does that mean it's in his arse, or what?
Anyway, he's on a ton of scary drugs and sounds like he is going to cough himself inside-out.
I have been working at home drafting a Concept of Analysis, which is every bit as dull and tiresome as it sounds. In between times I have eaten sandwiches, watched a couple of episodes of Futurama on DVD and looked gloomily out of the window at the pissing rain.
Oh, and I painted my toenails*. Woo fucking hoo.
Later that same day, I made the world's most disappointing pasta dish for supper, which, despite being full of lovely ingredients was dull and all but tasteless. The best part of the whole meal was the steamed broccoli. Fucking hell. What kind of a meal is that, where broccoli is the highlight, eh?
Still, other than that, it;s been a nice day.
Mr WithaY gave me a present, whcih was most unexpected and lovely. It's a book for me to take on holiday called "City of Laughter", and it's subtitled "Sex and Satire in Eighteenth-Century London". Brilliant.
I love social history. And the Eighteenth Century. I was a secret, slightly ashamed, fan of Georgette Heyer for years but now I know how many primary sources she used for her historical novels, I feel almost virtuous reading them.
It's making learning fun.
*Lilac, in case you were wondering.
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