nice break
It's turned out to be a lovely Christmas break, all things considered.
* Manics at the O2. Which seems so long ago now: but yes, good stuff.
* I then managed to get hold of eight issues of Potlatch, the Internationale Lettriste newsletter of the mid-1950s. It's all been reprinted since, admittedly, in at least three separate editions, so it is pure fetishism for me to seek after the original copies: but such things are just so colossally rare. Only twice before have I ever seen any issues offered for sale at all, one group back in 1997 (and cheaper too back then, before they gave up the Franc for the Euro, and all the prices suddenly doubled), and another in about 2005. So maybe some more will come onto the market in 2019: but, until then, I'm very pleased with the ones I have.
* An impromptu trip to Glasgow. Having barely left the house since the end of term, it was good to get away, and to make merry fun with my little chums. (Though nine hours from Euston to Glasgow Central does seem like a bit much).
* And then I had a paper accepted for publication (finally, some six months after I sent it off!). Which means that I have now met my REF quota for 2008-2013, which is something of a relief. But then I've got another one ready to go out next week anyway.
* And then another impromptu trip yesterday, this time to Paris. I haven't been since 2008, and lots of Beckett/Situationist reading of late had swept my heart back to Saint-Germain des Prés. And it's certainly a great deal easier to get to than Glasgow. And, unusually, I've been getting up in the morning lately, which meant that a spur-of-the-moment day-trip was suddenly a realistic proposition. So I took one. I cycled out into the frosty dawn and was on the Left Bank before noon, with six hours to zip about the bookshops. It's not quite the same, now that one can find everything online anyway: but their bookshops really do put London to shame, and, even if I didn't actually buy very much, they're just nice places to be. Parisians love books. Books and cigarettes. I approve, on both counts.
But back to school tomorrow. Or rather, not to school until Tuesday, but tomorrow to my ducklings' graduation ceremony. And then, probably some time in the next couple of weeks, I should be getting a new niece or nephew. I'm on round-the-clock standby for a telephone call, for emergency babysitting for daughter number one when labour starts. Exciting times.
* Manics at the O2. Which seems so long ago now: but yes, good stuff.
* I then managed to get hold of eight issues of Potlatch, the Internationale Lettriste newsletter of the mid-1950s. It's all been reprinted since, admittedly, in at least three separate editions, so it is pure fetishism for me to seek after the original copies: but such things are just so colossally rare. Only twice before have I ever seen any issues offered for sale at all, one group back in 1997 (and cheaper too back then, before they gave up the Franc for the Euro, and all the prices suddenly doubled), and another in about 2005. So maybe some more will come onto the market in 2019: but, until then, I'm very pleased with the ones I have.
* An impromptu trip to Glasgow. Having barely left the house since the end of term, it was good to get away, and to make merry fun with my little chums. (Though nine hours from Euston to Glasgow Central does seem like a bit much).
* And then I had a paper accepted for publication (finally, some six months after I sent it off!). Which means that I have now met my REF quota for 2008-2013, which is something of a relief. But then I've got another one ready to go out next week anyway.
* And then another impromptu trip yesterday, this time to Paris. I haven't been since 2008, and lots of Beckett/Situationist reading of late had swept my heart back to Saint-Germain des Prés. And it's certainly a great deal easier to get to than Glasgow. And, unusually, I've been getting up in the morning lately, which meant that a spur-of-the-moment day-trip was suddenly a realistic proposition. So I took one. I cycled out into the frosty dawn and was on the Left Bank before noon, with six hours to zip about the bookshops. It's not quite the same, now that one can find everything online anyway: but their bookshops really do put London to shame, and, even if I didn't actually buy very much, they're just nice places to be. Parisians love books. Books and cigarettes. I approve, on both counts.
But back to school tomorrow. Or rather, not to school until Tuesday, but tomorrow to my ducklings' graduation ceremony. And then, probably some time in the next couple of weeks, I should be getting a new niece or nephew. I'm on round-the-clock standby for a telephone call, for emergency babysitting for daughter number one when labour starts. Exciting times.