The General and I were out shopping recently and eventually approached the counter to pay for our few wares. The young woman who came to serve us was buoyantly attractive with the cartoon appeal of those sloe-eyed creatures (without pores) who inhabit many an Instagram account.
“So, guys,” she said brightly – but slowly – in the manner of someone who has very recently attended a (mandatory) customer service seminar. “We’re going to start off by getting an email or phone number, ‘kay?”
The General leaned in to me and observed, sotto voce: “Is this an interview? I just wanted to buy toothpaste …”
Love this man.
I am now making a conscious decision not to bang on about how long it’s been since I last posted anything; suffice it to say, that the entire blog has been in a serious coma and I have been struggling to decide whether or not to pull the plug.
Today, I say, let us limp on a little yet.
Rightly so or not, I do feel a little proud of myself for recently finishing the brilliant but painfully slow read that is Villette, by Charlotte Brontë. The novel itself is not especially toothsome but necessary French translations and classical allusions demand constant referencing to the notes. I will say upfront that I had never even heard of this book till it was referenced by the queen of obscure cool, Patti Smith, who said that she was so moved by the book she had to write an alternative ending of her own.