Some people never learn to reck their own rede

I needed, after I’d finished with my appointment in Norwich, to buy some lilies on the market. These cost £2.95 for 3 or £10 for 10, which is rather sweetly Normal For Norfolk.

Afterwards, I thought was a good idea to walk back to the car park by way of Jarrolds. The department store that is, at its heart, a bookshop. Oh yes. The woman who is currently reading at least three books, one of which is War and Peace with about 1.000 pages still to go, who bought nineteen second-hand books on Saturday and hasn’t had a chance to start any of them, the same lass who still hasn’t read yesterday’s papers, let alone start on today’s – and why do I *need* two newspapers a day anyway?- yes, this is the very person who found herself irresistably drawn to buy yet three more books.

I didn’t sleep much last night. I suddenly started to worry about all the things I have left undone which I ought to have done, and it occupied my mind rather a lot. I have a moderately free afternoon now, so can get on with some of them. Of course, by ‘free’, I mean that I haven’t anything written in my diary, in the way of appointments or obligations. In fact, there is so much to do that I am in danger of forgetting vital matters. It occurs to me, sometimes, to wish that I just had a job, a home life, maybe even a social life, and didn’t take on a variety of different and mostly voluntary tasks. But I think then that I’d be too aware of my own limitations. By pretending that I can do these things, I can delude myself, and sometimes others, into believing that there is no end to my capabilities, if only I were not so busy.

I’m a fool. But it seems that is my chosen path. The primrose path to dalliance. Oh crikey, I hope that doesn’t make me a puffed and reckless libertine. Or even an ungracious pastor. Which seems to show I’ve an urge to read or see Hamlet again. Or I wouldn’t be quoting from it. Hm. Rambling.

Time for lunch. Camembert. Which will be sniffed cautiously, to see if it smells like Brie (sorry, in-joke. Jen knows what I’m talking about. As does IM, who put the information into my head in the first place).

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