Half asleep all day, end-of-term-itis struck after delivering the play on Monday - of which more anon, inevitably - and running around most of the week. Anyway I surfaced from a profound nap about half six and was excused putting-boys-to-bed duties to go and clear my head. Pitched up at Angel and despite repeated tellings-off from B for feeding the corporate monster I browsed in Borders, as is my habit. Picked out what appears to be the definitive biography of PG Wodehouse, engrossing from what I've seen so far, very good writer that Robert McCrum.
Anyhoo at the till the bookseller asks me - Would you like some free chocolate with that.
After a momentary jar my brain processed this and said - Yes please.
But I wouldn't let it lie, would I.
What's this in aid of? I ask, pleasantly as you like.
I don't know, actually, is her no doubt fair enough but solidly disinterested response. It's only her day job, after all, and the corporate monster may well have been on her case that day, who knows.
But I'm finding this all a bit disconcerting - the deadpan gifting of sweets with yr literary biographical. So I say -
What a decadent society, ey.
And I get the glassy-eye switch-off, got another nutter here, say nothing, just Would You Like A Bag?, think about supper and what's on telly later, only two hours to go...