The last day of the month. The last of Italy's three giorni della merla, traditionally the three coldest days of the year. But not this year, according to my extremely scientific observations. Today, it was minus one at 8am, overcast and still.
The last day of the month. The day everyone expected to read illuminating and erudite comments on a novel by a Nobel Prize winner (didn't they?).
So I failed!
So sue me!
I haven't even so much as picked up Grazia Deledda's Reeds in the Wind. It's languishing in the entrance hall, covers curling in the cold air, taking on the smell of damp soil and looking unwanted.
Fact is, I'm spellbound by G.W. Dahlquist's preposterous Victorian Gothic adventure, The Glass Books of the Dream-Eaters which, at a couple of pages a night (I get tired...very tired...) is going to take just a few more nights to finish.
Patience is a virtue.