Life is best when I've come across a book I don't like to put down.
Such is the case with The Secret Life of Violet Grant, written with such wit and humour that a couple love stories are far more entertaining than they might otherwise be.
I've been reading it before bed, and in the morning before getting out of bed, and will no doubt polish it off tonight.
And really should get a move on. Mallard Industries, where Emil works, is having a 40th anniversary barbecue starting in less than an hour. Emil would like us to go, and I'm still in my pyjamas. I knew I'd be this way, as I usually am on Saturday mornings, which is why I committed to nothing and made no offers to be anywhere or do anything. I've been on the run for a week, I need to be free of "things to do" and "places to be" for a couple days. Scott woke up tired, and I myself haven't yet plugged into whatever socket might give me some energy.
Guess I'd best go splash some water on my face and throw some clothes on and brush the fur off my teeth.