The Brother and I were enjoying a beer. I mentioned I had a list of books to read. He raised an eyebrow in that faintly affected way of his and asked which ones. I named a few.
When I woke up in the morning, my head aching from either the cocktails or the sight of the female olympic weightlifting the night before, there were two big black bags at the end of the bed with a note attached. He works for a chemical engineering company and gets sent out to some godforsaken places (Saudi Arabia, Iran, Liverpool...) So he reads. And over the last 8 years he's amassed quite a collection, mainly classics, but all on my list.
And now I have his collection. What the heck am I going to do with it?
And the more eagle eyed among you may have noted the pink skirting board and stencilled roses climbing the wall. All just further straws to break the back of my sanity, I tell you.
There's a small site redesign coming tonight. Any interuption in the whining of the Newly Single will be rectified as swiftly as possible.
