Sunday, March 27, 2011

Ticket to read, baklava and fed up.

1. Tucking a marker in a new book. I save all my old train tickets for this purpose. If you find yourself reading a secondhand book, and a ticket to or from Tunbridge Wells falls out, think of me.

2. A mouthful of baklava -- the pastry is fine and crisp under the syrup.

3. I leave the room, partly because I've heard babies will take a bottle more easily if mum isn't around; and partly because I can't bear to watch Alec being fed by someone else, even if it is my own milk, and even if it's Nick doing the feeding.. At first there is roaring, and then suddenly quiet, and "Well done, lad."

--
On another note, I've just read Neil Gaiman's blog post about Diana Wynne Jones who is one of my favourite authors. I'm very sad to think there will be no more of her books to look forward to. I wrote to her once to say how much I liked her work and to say that she was partly responsible for me wanting to be a writer, and she send me the loveliest, kindest letter.

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