I bought a radio. I came back from Greece the other day and it felt silent. Too silent. Outside of my Greek flat I could listen to the rough Aegean winds (aka meltemia), various sounds in the building, stray cats having sex... all that jazz. Here, nothing. I negotiated the situation with AI, we agreed on a dab radio. Non negotiable: a remote, I come home, click a button, sounds appear. The radio appears two days later, batteries not included. I check, I didn't have these tiny AAA ones. Will buy them tomorrow with rest of the groceries. Sainsbury's local, I am having some cold, not worth to walk all the way to B&Q. - Do you have batteries? - Yes, we do, these are behind the counter, next to the cigarettes. - (It's just batteries, which so much protection) me thinks. Thanks, will check. - Please give me some AAA batteries, I request, having bought the rest of the groceries. - Well, we have only package of eight, the lady starts mumbling guiltily. - I only nee...
Just ten pages left, you can do it, told to myself at p. 660... but even this, was nothing like a strong sense of relief... everything has to be watered down in this little nostalgic Delderfield world, even the end of boredom itself. I delved into Delderfield's books straight after the Luxembourgish chaos; all this normality overdose was truly needed - loved every single reference to the train commuters from south east London to the City (myself reading about them while on the very same train route 120 years later was expectedly soothing). But I now think I have paid my time; I won't have to read the other two Swann Saga books, Charles Dickens is the way ahead - Actually, the most dramatic scene of the book was real event which gave Dickens an eternal train hatred. Delderfield-wise, it was nothing serious, of course, just the main hero losing a leg in a train accident while saving his family, but, you guessed it right, there was a happy ending, with the hero becomi...