Dear Reader
As anyone reading this silly experiment will know, I recently decided to write a blog once a week. So there I am on Monday, slouching in my chair (a rare occasion few people have ever seen), glaring at the my laptop screen (which is a much more common sight), realising that I had not much to say. Aside from my daily routine, in truth, it has been a rather uneventful week as compared to the extreme hub-bub of the last month. Not that I believe anyone would take even the most mediocre interest in this unextraordinarly ordinary life of mine...
After an undramatic return to university, the only thing marking out Monday in any significance was the fact that I started reading Son of a Witch by Gregory Maguire ---->;. It's the sequel to one of my all time favourites from some years ago now, Wicked: The life and times of the Wicked Witch of the West <---- . Want to know a Secret: I'm extremely desprate to go watch the musical version playing at the Apollo, but I have yet to find some who would willingly go with me. Anyway, back to the sequel. I actually didn't know there was a sequel until a few weeks ago, which is actually really quite daft because it's mentioned on the back of my edition of 
Wicked, right there under Gregory Maguire's face. Who would have thought to look there? So, having borrowed a copy from my local library (I didn't initially think of looking for a sequel there either) I am now about half-way through the novel, doing most of my reading on the tube.
Wicked, right there under Gregory Maguire's face. Who would have thought to look there? So, having borrowed a copy from my local library (I didn't initially think of looking for a sequel there either) I am now about half-way through the novel, doing most of my reading on the tube. Which reminds me, something I read this morning on the tube had me giggling (and consequently being stared at by about 50 other cramped Londoners): "By force of personality, by dint of their vicious beauty and untamed ways, children tromp into the world ready to disfigure it". I'm not sure why I find that so funny, because I generally find children the epitome of adorable innocence, like many other maternal ninnies. Maybe, because I agree in a disagreeing sort of way; espeacially when Maguire says "Dying in order to live, that sort of thing". I guess there are just some paradoxes in this world that must be agreed with in a disagreeing manner. But paradoxical juxtapositions are a disscussion for another time, another blog.
For now I must go and have lunch in my favourite campus cafe: Peabody's
Nida
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