I have a sore throat and sticky nose. It's all these sick people I've been hanging around with, I swear.
I'm currently reading Margaret Frazer's The Clerk's Tale. I may be unnaturally grumpy because of the throat, but... I'll quote you a sentence:
A January spring might be worth nothing but she could not help preferring it to the bitter cold there might have been and nonetheless did not choose to sit on any of the benches set along the paths but for warmth's sake and to work out the weariness of riding took her way at much the measured pace she would have used if circling St Frideswide's cloister walk, around and through the garden, along one path and into another and back by a different way and around again, making no haste because where was there to haste to?
Now, is that not ugly and sprawling and horrid? and this is the eighth book in her series. Are there no proofreaders? are there no editors? no blue pencils?
annoyed