This weekend was ace. I spent ages lying in our glorious winter sun reading the most frivolous novel imaginable: Cheri by Colette. I mean, I haven't read it all the way through yet - does it get more serious towards the end? All I've read about so far is love affairs, luncheons and Paris apartments. Perfect fodder for a dreamless sleep. Not like that crazy-scary Wuthering Heights I was reading before.Things have been a bit stressful recently. I'm still unemployed and heading for broke (well ... perhaps I shouldn't have spent our groceries money on a kick arse dictionary) and I've been lacking energy for no good reason. If the doctor says I should 'continue resting,' who am I to argue?
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