This morning I made the error of drinking a large glass of milk as there was too much milk and it was getting a little old. Unsurprisingly, I’ve had a slightly unhappy stomach all day.
I read another Ishiguro book, The Remains of the Day, today. I had actually read this already but remembered little other than the tone of it. Surprised at the similarities to the Artist. I still find his writing really strange and uncomfortable, there’s something so inauthentic feeling about it. It is also good, don’t get me wrong, and the ideas (maybe musing is a better word than idea here) are interesting, but if there were to be a Nobel smackdown, Gurnah would crush him.
Just over a week before I leave Bangkok. I’m really not looking forward to it.