The GF returns overnight, so my week to myself is over. It will be good to have him back, though I did take the opportunity to do some things by myself that he wouldn’t have enjoyed. Not that I couldn’t do them anywy, but it’s somehow easier when he is not there.
Today was the Friday market on the street outside. As usual I forgot to photograph it for posterity. It’s basically a hijab market – every kind of hijab for sale of the particularly hot and constrictive multi-part variety that is popular in SE Asia. There is a separate hair band and something that goes around the neck. Very different from a simple (and to my eyes) elegant chador. Also, most of them are made of synthetics, which makes me break out in a rash just thinking about it.
Anyhow, I strolled through the market singularly untempted by anything. There was a new fried mushroom stall, superior to the last (fried with curry leaves and cumin), so that was my lunch.
I read the first Meghan Whalen Turner book again, The Thief as I had forgotten nearly everything about it. It remains a fun romp with a very good change-about in it, and it is encouraging that Turner has published only four books since 1996 (four more than I, not to mention several awards more, but still). I think I’ll keep the rest, they are particularly good reading when one is feeling anxious or restless. I used to turn to PG Wodehouse and Georgette Heyer and later, Dorothy Sayers, but none of them do it for me anymore. I think they are all too familiar, I can virtually predict which word will follow which.
And that is all for today.