I’d be posting on the 20th, in fact, I am writing this on the 20th, but BT has run gleefully away with the internet connection and who can say when you will be reading this.
[This applies in any case, as if, God forbid, this is all still up in ten years time, someone could be reading it then. Reed doesn't always think things through, you know - Ed]
The Editor is feeling particularly sprightly this soul-destroyingly dank evening because we – we hope – defeated the subject headings [by a very narrow margin indeed] and handed in what we fondly assume to be a reasonable piece of coursework. [Ah, but we assumed, not so fondly, that the last piece of classification coursework was arse-gravy from beginning to end and got an A for it, so narrative causality expects bitter sobbing some time soon after Christmas]. And as the Editor is waxing (not lyrical. Just, waxing) and as we are Waiting for Internet, we two are spending the evening arguing about, alas, boots (as in, the old ones pinch, and can we have new ones when the Internet comes?). S has been delegated the role of Unfortunate Boy Bearing Messages, but luckily we still have the kettle, so he also brings tea and no one has thumped him yet.
I do hope the Internet does come soon. I’ve saved this post for it.
[Do any of you have a clue what she's drooling on about?]